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fll; A SOCIAL VISION. 

BY 

CHARLES S. DANIEL 



BOSTON : 

ARENA PUBLISHING CO., 
Copley Square, 

1893. 



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Copyright 1893, 
by 

CHARLES S. DANIEL. 
All rights reserved. 

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30 jj '01 


Arena Press 





CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER 

I. The Amalgamation of Forces. 

II. The Philosophy of the Man. 

III. A College Settlement. 

IV. A Thinking Mandat Work. 

V. A Working Man A-Thinking. 

VI. A Little Leaven. 

VII. A Feast of Reason. 

VIII. Earth to Earth. 

IX. An Election That Was Also a Choice. 

X. The Modern Crown of Thorns. 

XL The Real Consecration. 

XII. Was It All a Dream ? 

XIII. The Leaven at Work. 

XIV. Ways and Means. 

XV. Was He Intrusive ? 

XVI.* 

XVII. A Chapter Thrown in. 

XVIII. Concerning the Suppressed Chapter. 

XIX. A Wedding Dance. 

XX. A Report of Work. 

XXI. A Day Oft'. 

XXII. A Day of Judgment. 

XXIII. Read. 

XXIV. A Conception of Truth. 

XXV. The Ancient Landmarks. 

XXVI. At Home. 

XXVII. Another Day Off. 

XXVIII. A Confessional. 

XXIX. Reparation. 

XXX. Concerning Past Days. 

XXXI. An Intellectual Anvil. 

XXXII. Reminiscences. 

XXXIII. A Victory. 

XXXIV. A Life Worth Living. 


*Suppressed. 




CHAPTER I. 


The Amalgamation of Forces. 

O Romeo, Romeo ! wherefore art thou Romeo ? 

Deny thy father and refuse thy name ; 

Or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love. 

And I’ll no longer be a Capulet. 

Shakespeare. 

There was a ripple of excitement in what con¬ 
stituted the fashionable circle of Philadelphia, 
when it leaked out that the Hamilton girls had 
gone off and married the Burr brothers. Alice 
and Enid Hamilton were twin sisters, and were 
great favorites among the ultra fashionable. They 
had a long pedigree of honorable associations, 
were blessed with an abundance of worldly goods, 
and their personality was bright and attractive, so 
that they had hosts of admirers, among whom they 
numbered some worthy of being counted friends. 
They were known as the pretty Hamilton girls. 
Their coming to any resort in their summer wan¬ 
derings was considered the event of the season, 
and the most was made of it on both sides; society 
sought profit by them, and they in a sweet, 





helpful way sought to give all the pleasure within 
their power. “ Those sensible Hamilton girls,” 
they used to say, “ nothing seems to spoil them. 
They are the same to-day they were two years ago, 
when they first stepped upon the stage of fashion¬ 
able life, and yet their experience would have 
spoiled all of less genuine material.” They were 
considered by some as a little highstrung, but by 
those who knew them best they were not so much 
highstrung in the offensive sense, as girls of inde¬ 
pendent spirit; they could not be made to stoop 
and cringe to anything they considered base, 
mercenary, selfish and mean. So that when Enid 
was informed that a husband had been selected 
for her, she replied in her sweet, respectful manner 
that she had already paid attention to that matter, 
and no selection was necessary. The matter, of 
course, was discussed, but the outcome was a 
foregone conclusion; it was simply a choice be¬ 
tween a man she did not love, whom she could not 
even respect, and the man who was everything to 
her, and against whom nothing could be urged, 
who was honorable, bright and energetic, but had 
his fortune yet to make. In the same interview, 
in order to get the matter out of the way in one 
sweeping, the intelligence was also conveyed that 
Alice had done the same; that they had concluded 
4 


not to spread into too many families, and therefore 
they were to marry the Burr brothers, twins like 
themselves. The whole matter was said so inof¬ 
fensively, so respectfully, but so firmly, that it was 
seen at once by the astonished parents that to 
argue the matter was useless; they nevertheless kept 
up the appearance of offended parental dignity, 
although they had secretly concluded to let the 
matter take its course. Enid, however, to cut off 
all possibility of retreat, proposed to her sister to 
accede at once to the importunities of the brothers, 
and they were accordingly married three days after¬ 
wards. One of the happy brothers was building 
up for himself a little business that prospered, in 
the way of importing choice tropical fruits; the 
other was an electrician, and was really the origi¬ 
nator of many of the leading ideas which have given 
us our excellent system of underground wires. 

The brothers, plain, practical men of action, 
proposed that the matter be done without parade. 
The day after the girls became of age, they met 
the brothers at Earle’s gallery after business hours, 
on a half holiday, slipped quietly into the church 
of Gloria Dei by the Swanson street entrance, and 
were married. 

It is said they plucked their bridal roses as they 
passed through the grounds. The dead presented 
5 


them with their wedding bouquets, and they in turn 
will perfume the world long after they shall have 
returned to the same earth. 

After the ceremony in the quaint little church, 
they were met by a telegram requiring the im¬ 
mediate presence ot the electrician. Some unfore¬ 
seen accident had happened to the wires and must 
be attended to before lights were needed. Busi¬ 
ness before pleasure, agreed the practical quartette; 
and the electrician went about his work, while the 
brother took both the brides to Camden to witness 
the last rites at the grave of Walt Whitman. 

It was a free, unconventional, happy and serious 
day. 

If they had listened they might have heard a 
voice from the grave : 

All things are good ; flowers from the grave 
As well as those in sunny window ; 

Work is good; 

The sweet spontaneous yieldings of love 
Are good; so also 
The firm resistance to insincere and 
Hollow ambition; 

And death itself is good also. 

There were of course the usual breezes, disap¬ 
pointments, comments and criticisms, following 
this little escapade of the Hamilton girls; but 
6 



they would all be forgiven at their setting up of 
housekeeping, when two more houses should be 
added to the circle dispensing charming hospi¬ 
tality and adding to the amenities of social life. 
All was marked out for them; their friends had 
even so far interested themselves as to select two 
roomy houses on Rittenhouse square, which had 
recently been rebuilt with antique fronts, and were 
in every way suited to the young people, who 
should certainly become the leaders of fashion. 
The husbands, of course, some whispered, would 
for a time be only appendages; but still, as noth¬ 
ing decidedly could be urged against them, and as 
they were bright and really interesting on close 
acquaintance, they would gradually be admitted, 
and would finally be forgiven for this inroad and 
capture they had made. No one seemed to know 
them except a few of the young men of fashion; 
and this only through business relations, in which 
the Burrs had outstripped them by their solid worth 
and genuine business capacity. They were ac¬ 
knowledged to be men who were slowly climbing 
to the top; and this not by any other methods 
than the most honorable and by the inherent quali¬ 
ties of strictest integrity. 

But they had never been met in fashionable cir¬ 
cles, and how it all came about was the thing that 
7 


puzzled everybody. The girls kept their own 
counsel. 

Mrs. Airy had it all planned. 

“Of course, Enid, you will take it; it has 
been charmingly refitted, everything in the most 
elegant manner; there are sixteen rooms, and the 
rent is only fifteen hundred dollars a year, very 
cheap for that house; and, besides, the other 
house, exactly like it, will do for Alice; and you 
will all be near me, and we will all be together, 
and it will be charming.” 

“But,” replied Enid, “we can buy the house 
we have selected for fifteen hundred dollars; my 
husband has saved that, and the deed is ready for 
signatures. We will then have our own home, 
and fifteen hundred dollars a year will keep house. 
Besides, our income is not more than that; for 
we are just beginners, you know, and while 
things are getting better every day, yet for the 
present we must not live beyond our means. Of 
course, I have an income ot my own, and 
father would give me all I asked for, but I 
have a good, manly man, proud and sensitive, 
and I would not wound his pride by my offers 
of help; I will stand by him, accepting such 
as he by his own energy and labor can pro¬ 
vide.” 


8 



“Ido not understand. Where can you buy a 
house for fifteen hundred dollars? You can live 
in a few rooms upstairs; but you are not going 
to do that; you puzzle me, Enid,” said Mrs. 
Airy. 

“The matter is arranged; as I said, the deed 
is about being signed; you must come and see 
us when we get settled. ’ ’ 

“Indeed I will; but, Enid, where are you 
going ? This is becoming interesting; out of 
town, I suppose ? ” 

“No; on Congress street.” 

“On Congress street ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“I never heard of it. So you are going to 
your own house ; that will be nice, and we will 
certainly come to see you,” remarked Mrs. Airy, 
after meditating a moment. 

Congress street is a little by-street, running 
west off Front, below Bainbridge. On the south 
side, and quite close to Front street, can be seen 
two squarely built brick houses, exactly alike, 
with massive chimneys, and the gables facing the 
street. They were once separated by a narrow 
strip of ground, and had evidently stood in a con¬ 
siderable tract before the street was cut through. 
They are now close by the street. On one of the 
9 


gables can be seen the letters C. M., and on the 
other house the date 1748. These inscriptions 
are formed of black glazed brick, built into the 
walls. 

When these young people were out house hunt¬ 
ing, these twin cottages had already stood there 
one hundred and forty-four years, and had sheltered 
five generations. They had once been owned by 
an ancestor of the Hamiltons, members of the 
family having lived there for a hundred years. 
Of recent years the houses had been lived in 
by various families of boatmen and laborers in 
the adjoining mills and docks. 

The sight of these quaint twin houses with their 
odd inscriptions,^ so closely nestled to each other 
on this quaint street of industrious poor, filled the 
twin sisters with a sense of family pride. In their 
sunny, youthful ardor, they saw in those two little 
houses, two little homes, where they ought to nestle 
and be happy. It was an opportunity not to be 
neglected, and they would see to it at once. 

When the houses were secured, as said before, 
they were separated by a narrow strip of ground. 
This was altered and the improvements seen to¬ 
day date from the time when they took possession. 
A builder was engaged to make certain improve¬ 
ments. Nothing of the old structure was in the 
10 


least disturbed, but the improvements were by way 
of additions, and a careful plan of the original 
was preserved. Brick arches span each end of the 
space separating the houses, and the whole was 
converted into a spacious veranda, which was 
occupied in common. It was a cool, shady place 
in summer, and in winter afforded a dry and con¬ 
venient way of communication. The view through 
the two arches obtained from the street, was a 
tempting one to passers-by, for they had erected 
in the rear an elevated garden, filled with bloom¬ 
ing plants, that made the sight a fairy scene and a 
constant source of delight to the neighborhood. 
The old fireplaces were restored as in the days of 
cranes, and the old stairways were exposed. The 
walls were cleaned and scraped of many layers of 
paper, down to the original layer of the solid and 
genuine mortar of pre-Revolutionary days. Drain¬ 
age and ventilation were looked after, and all was 
made comfortable and bright. But the original 
structure was undisturbed. The doors and shut¬ 
ters were mended and braced and joined together, 
and every fragment was preserved and restored. 

And then came the question of furnishing. 
The modern carpet, with its capacity for holding 
dust, was not to desecrate this abode of free and 

healthful existence. The waxed floors of the past, 

ii 




with abundant rugs, easily handled, were to make 
beautiful and comfortable this home of rational 
souls. One of the young wives, who was quite an 
architectural genius, superintended all of the im¬ 
provements, and was somewhat of a terror to the 
workmen on account of her exactions with regard 
to following plans which she furnished. One day 
she made a carpenter tear out half a day’s work. 
“You might have known,” said she, “that such 
battens ought to be nailed together only with 
wrought-iron nails, having broad, spreading heads, 
and neatly made by hand by a blacksmith. Screws, 
glue and paint, what an idea ! Look at the plan— 
there the heads are plainly marked.” 


12 


CHAPTER II. 


The Philosophy of the Man. 

We do not take possession of our ideas, but are possessed by them. 
They master us and force us into the arena, where, like gladiators, 
we must fight for them.— Heine. 

The social regeneration of old Philadelphia came 
about through a variety of influences, and by a 
complex mixture of forces which wrought upon 
one another, each force potent by itself, but which 
still would have been insufficient to accomplish 
anything, or at least not much, if left working 
alone. 

The men and women who figured in it were a 
multitude; in fact, it was the whole of the con¬ 
glomerated mass that was set leavening, which 
grew and grew into the ripeness and the propor¬ 
tions you see it to-day. 

It concerns us to know only the leading facts 
and to learn the main outlines of the influences; 
to become acquainted with the few leading person¬ 
ages who constituted the leaven which was put 
into the meal. 



That there has been a regeneration no one will 
fail to see who can remember or learn the condi¬ 
tion of things half a century ago, and then see the 
vision that presents itself to the social philosopher 
in this year 1950. To be more explicit, one need 
but single out any of those sections which were 
once known to men still living as the slums, but 
which to-day stand improved and purified out of 
existence, to estimate the degree of the changes 
wrought. Men who saw the past condition of things 
must whip their memories to recall, and the youth 
of to-day regard as Munchausen tales, the descrip¬ 
tions that some old man with keener recollections 
may give of the times and condition of things so 
long ago. Thpse sections of the city, once a great 
care to the police, would scarcely be recognized; 
just like some old house rebuilt, such are its 
porches and gables, its windows and chimneys, its 
roofs and drainage, as to make it next to impossi¬ 
ble even to imagine how it looked originally. 
One does not care to go back and wade those 
streets, breathe those gases, drink that water, bat¬ 
tle with that filth, revel in those noises, see those 
sights and die under those conditions. One tries 
to forget some things, and if one never knew, it 
scarcely is wise to learn. Any prurient taste is 
therefore to be ungratified. But when the loaf 
14 


sweet and brown is seen, one may be excused for 
revealing the process and method of leavening; 
when the home of beauty and of comfort appears, 
one is justified in telling the name of architect and 
master builder. 

Perhaps the heart and sinew of the work was my 
friend Ai, whom I never consulted with reference 
to the publication of these facts. They can scarcely 
be called publications, as they have been known 
and seen for half a century, and become household 
words; so that while they have already been pub¬ 
lished they have never been recorded, and this it 
has seemed to many ought to be done. Ai, so 
thoughtful, so sensitive, so straightforward, so 
sympathetic, so daring, and withal so modest, 
thought of the matter so constantly that it was the 
perpetual theme of his conversation whenever we 
met. 

He regarded society as a brotherhood, a family 
of children; but this family had become scattered, 
partly on account of want of sympathy, partly 
on account of strife and clashing interests. 
The members were at war, there was internal 
strife, there were factions and unworthy plays and 
by-plays. It was all too bad, and something 
must be done to bring the members of this family 
together; these boys must be gotten to touch 
15 


hands and see that their flesh is of the same text¬ 
ure, and that the same blood warms each heart. 
Matters are out of joint; that is all; we must 
bring them together and adjust the parts. It may 
require a little force and strength, and withal a 
little pain may result, but it will soon be over, 
and the limb will become useful. In our walks 
he went over the whole ground of the constitution 
of society, its social life, its institutions, gov¬ 
ernment, laws ; and the whole weighed upon him 
like the thought of an anxious mother for an ab¬ 
sent child. He felt intensely; he saw corruption 
and wrong-doing, the ulcers and sores of society; 
but it was in no spirit of pessimism. It can all 
be changed. The forces of the stream can be 
diverted and then utilized. The conditions can 
be adjusted so as to bring out the highest and 
most desirable results. “And we must do it; 
no, I must do it,” he used to say, “every man 
in his place must take a part in this upheaval and 
regeneration.” 

“Now look at that section,” he said one day; 
“ there is nothing wrong with it, the wrong lies 
with the men and women who are not there. You 
speak of the slums; what makes them slums but 
your faithlessness? You speak of the morally 
diseased; what makes them so but the taint which 
16 


others have left ? The neighborhood has men and 
women who only need readjustment; they have 
broken down under strain, and need only the 
lifting hand of superior strength. I never see 
that section but I think of it as a bay, once as 
quiet a harbor for ships as ever was seen, but the 
waters have been withdrawn ; the tide has gone 
out and left the ships stranded and useless; and if 
it stays out too long, stench and disease will result. 
What I must do is to do my part in bringing 
about a return of the tide; we must float those 
ships, we must reach those havens, and bring life 
and activity where is now stagnation and decay. 
We want a readjustment in the thought of society, 
so that men will come to see themselves as waters 
necessary to ships, and ships that can only float 
in waters. We have not yet learned that the dif¬ 
ferent classes of society are necessary to one an¬ 
other; that one can scarcely tell which is the 
most important—the ship, the water, or even the 
deep mud or shifting sands that hold the water. 
We need a sense of sympathy; we must join 
hands, and say we are brethren.” 

One day I saw a great sore on Ai’s hand, which 
grew and festered and became feverish, and 
seemed stubborn and unyielding. I recommend¬ 
ed excellent poultices and plasters. “Ah, that,” 
17 


said he, “is just what we are doing, what I am 
doing, with this business of society. I apply the 
plaster on the outside and get a little temporary 
relief, but it only breaks out somewhere else. 
What really is necessary is purification of the 
blood; men need purifying from within. The 
remedy is not the plaster applied on the outside, 
but the trouble lies deeper than that, and when 
we have learned the seat of the disease we have 
gotten to the bottom of things.” 

To elucidate what he meant he would go into 
particulars and cite facts and bring forth instances. 
“ Now look at it, it is all wrong. There is another 
church for sale, and the congregation about mov¬ 
ing west, where the pastor says his flock has gone. 
What he means by that I scarcely know, for I find 
the neighborhood a bee-hive. Soon you will hear 
this same church in its new comfortable quarters, 
talking of doing benevolent work, and proposing 
to operate upon the slums. It is the same story 
over again. It is applying the blister, the plaster 
or the poultice on the outside, while the seat of 
the disease and the blood are untouched. We 
operate upon the outside, I operate upon the out¬ 
side, in my philanthropic intentions, instead of 
going deep down and bringing health and purity 
from within. The churches have ceased being a 
iS 


leaven hidden in the meal.” And thus he would 
talk. Our mutual friend, Impey, who frequently 
joined us in our walks, added to this last observa¬ 
tion that the work of the churches reminded him 
more of grease than leaven, which the baker 
spread over the hard and indigestible loaf, to 
make it shiny and presentable. Impey was no 
churchman, but this operating upon the slums 
from without always seemed to him the most in¬ 
sidious error with which the church had ever been 
blinded. 

One matter which entered largely into his 
philosophy, Ai loved to dwell upon. It grew into 
an enthusiasm, as he sought to give it practical 
shape. It was not all a wild dream, but the mat¬ 
ter rested upon a foundation deep down in the 
constitution of society. The evidences that this 
was sound philosophy are now so plainly seen all 
about us that attention need but be called to it to 
convince us of the farsightedness of his opinions. 
The history of it, how it all began and was 
brought about, this may interest us, and with this 
we are more directly concerned. 

He maintained that society will never be regen¬ 
erated until each will come to regard himself 
as a part of it; the parts must be adjusted ; now 
they lie apart; they must be brought together. 

19 


The rivets, the screws, the glue and the braces 
must bind this machine together, that it may do 
its work. The separation of the classes lies at the 
foundation of our troubles. The rich are getting 
richer, the poor are getting poorer, and with this 
change in fortune comes a separation in abode, 
and a loss of that sympathy which close proximity 
carries with it. We have our classes, and they 
are known by the quarter they live in. Men 
are drifting not only in their abodes, but are be¬ 
coming separated in feeling. There are those 
who are moving north and west and those who are 
drifting east and south; and as they drift apart 
and cross each other’s paths they view each other 
with feelings of suspicion. One class hates the 
other, and the other simply despises in return. 

“ Now there will be a change in all this when 
there is a return of the ghosts of the grandfathers 
to the old homesteads, and I will live to see it.” 
As he dwelt on this, his eyes brightened and his 
whole frame quivered with pleasurable excitement. 
“ I believe there will be a literal coming back of 
the tide, a real infusing of health and strength into 
the blood itself. Young men and women will 
come and live where their ancestors lived. Maid¬ 
ens will walk those halls and dance in those rooms 
where once their grandmothers danced. There 
20 


has been enough of this false philosophy; men 
will live naturally and humanely; rich and poor 
will dwell together like brethren. It all means 
the ushering in of a happy era of sane humanity 
and brotherhood.” 

“Are you not sanguine?” I sometimes sug¬ 
gested. “ Yes, but I have a right to be ; for there 
is an awakening to a realization of the worth of 
things, and this will work out this phase of the 
regeneration I am alluding to.” 

“ What do you mean ? Please explain.” 

“ Perhaps a single allusion will cover the prin¬ 
ciple. The other day I strayed into one of those 
old residences on Front street, and saw one of the 
numerous old homesteads scattered all through 
that section of old Philadelphia, lying along the 
Delaware. My attention was attracted to the 
quaint shutters and their locks and hinges; the 
beauty and elaborateness of the doorway tempted 
me into the hall, a glimpse of which I had. Once 
inside, the arches and stairways and architectural 
marks of bygone days were examined, and the 
whole afforded an hour’s keen enjoyment. Now 
this taste for the antique alone will be a strong 
factor in bringing back the social tide. There is, 
of course, the stronger motive, that feeling of 
humanity and sense of brotherhood, the mellowing 
21 


of the kindly heart, that is slowly but surely 
going on all around us among the younger people. 
All this will aid to work out the problem \ but the 
love of the old and substantial, the historical asso¬ 
ciations of the past, this will bear no mean part 
in this social regeneration. Things are just in 
their formative state. Up to this date it has been 
a fad; it has been surface work and shallow, this 
worship of the antique; but its foundation rests 
upon a base deep down, and we are getting to it, 
and then will begin to build; mark my word. 
We have brought out the spinning-wheel and have 
gilded it and decorated it; we will now move back 
to the room that once heard its music. I do not 
say that we will abandon the factory and reinstate 
the spinning-wheel—not that; but we will return 
to the abode of our grandmothers and live in some¬ 
what the simplicity and comfort of their time,* 
and we will be happier than they on account of the 
advantages which the times have brought. I do 
not believe that we will much longer let these 
treasures of the old homesteads lie unearthed. It 
is really too bad to see the lack of appreciation. 
The other day I saw a group of sailors sitting 
around an open fireplace, with its fine old richly 
carved mantel; the fire was burning low, and one 
of the company, a strong, ox-like fellow, reached 
22 


over and wrenched off" one of the carved pillars 
supporting the mantel, and rebuilt the fire. A 
splinter clung to a nail; with this he lighted his 
pipe. It made my aesthetic blood creep. This 
will no longer continue; the young people will 
appoint themselves committees to see to this. We 
will still have associations to care for a building of 
historic note, here and there, but will also see two 
and two love and join hands and go down and be¬ 
gin their housekeeping where a century ago their 
grandmothers lived and were happy. We have 
given our money, we have written our books, we 
have sent our substitutes, we have done everything 
to exhibit our interest in the troubled and the op¬ 
pressed ; but now will begin an era when men will 
give themselves, their presence and personality, 
and they will grasp the hands of those whom they 
wish to be friendly to. It will be an age of 
personal service. And this service will not be 
rendered by proxy, with a supercilious, faraway 
daintiness, but there will be a living, genuine, 
human sympathy of real brotherhood and neigh¬ 
borly contiguousness growing in the soil. 
The regeneration will be wrought by the home 
acting upon the home. We are entering upon 
this era and we will both live to see it far ad¬ 
vanced.” 


23 


And thus we would walk and talk. Sometimes 
in our long strollings in the park we would rest, 
and getting a bird’s-eye view of the city he would 
say, “ That will really once more become a city of 
brotherly love. We drink the same water, but we 
do not breathe the same air; the new era will alter 
that. We will walk the same pavements to our 
homes and breathe the same air.” On winter 
days when it was more pleasurable to walk the 
sunny side of the street, we would stroll into the 
by-streets of the old town and see the quaint old 
buildings with their shingle roofs and bays, and 
arched doorways, stopping here and there to ex¬ 
amine something more quaint than the rest. In 
these walks he would say, “Living hearts are 
wanted now who will appreciate this. We want 
men and women who will walk uprightly to see 
this. These people crawl; they creep under these 
roofs for shelter; but the fault is not all theirs; it 
is the fault of the brotherhood. We want men who 
will walk like men and lift their heads as they go 
in and out, and the contagion will spread. See 
that puddle; it will disappear when the new era ap¬ 
pears.” “But,” I asked, “how about the over¬ 
crowding, how about the displacement when this 
inflow of philanthropy begins?” “There will be 
some displacement of course, but not to any 

24 


serious extent. Mark, I do not say that there will be 
a flood that will overflow this parched ground and 
make it blossom and fruitful—not that. What I 
do maintain, is that the old homesteads will be 
sought out and inhabited by the descendants; 
these naturally will be few. Besides, social heroes 
will not be found marching in regiments. I said 
it will be leaven in the meal; not an addition of 
other meal to displace the present population. It 
will be leaven, active, sweet and forceful, that will 
accomplish this social regeneration.” And thus 
we would walk and talk. But it was not all talk. 
Ai was a man of action. 





25 


\ 


CHAPTER III. 

A College Settlement. 

A man does not choose the scene of his work. The man who knows 
his goal and wills to reach it, has felt the call of God written in letters 
of fire—“ This is thy place.”— Ibsen. 

Minster Street is a narrow lane running off 
Seventh Street, above Lombard. It was on this 
street that Ai first appeared as a co-worker in this 
social regeneration. When the college settlements 
were first inaugurated, Andover House, Hull 
House, the college settlement’ in New York, and 
Toynbee Hall in London, Ai had lived and worked 
on Minster Street for a considerable time, almost 
unknown, except to the little world of the poor 
around him. 

No one knows precisely the earliest history of 
his work on Minster Street. It is a matter con¬ 
cerning which he always exhibited a freezing reti¬ 
cence. On more than one occasion did I try, in 
not too intrusive a way, either, to draw him out; 
but the snail always drew himself into his shell, 
and all conversation was closed for that evening. 
It was known among his friends, that if anyone 
wished to spoil the social feast, he need but refer, 
even remotely, to Ai’s first steps in his work; this 
2 6 


chilled the flow of conversation and Ai dropped 
out of the circle as completely as if he had never 
been there. Why this reticence, why this strange 
moving away from the light, no one was able 
clearly to ascertain. All that was positively known 
is the fact that he was found there, lodged in a lit¬ 
tle house adjoining a small church ; that he was 
known to the people in the street, who found him 
there when they moved in. No one in that shift¬ 
ing population had been there long enough to 
know anything very far back, and so there were 
difficulties in writing ancient history. A rather 
amusing tale is to the effect that he was a Jesuit in 
disguise; had been educated in a Jesuitical college 
and was a man of the most dangerous and insid¬ 
ious character. All this praying out of the Book 
of Common Prayer was a part he was playing ; it 
worked well, and he had slain his allotted number. 
His professions in the way of ritualism were all a 
pretense. His affectations in the direction of the 
Broad Church movement, bordering almost on 
Unitarianism, which others curiously detected run¬ 
ning on a parallel with his ritualism, were all 
thoroughly consistent with the ways and plan of 
the Jesuit, and he was one, of the rankest char¬ 
acter. Others admitted his Jesuitical origin, but 
gave another version of the matter. They main¬ 
tained he had really been sent out by a Jesuit com- 
27 


munity, but had fallen under the influence of the 
Unitarians, into which extreme he had flowed ; 
then in turn the Episcopalians had had their influ¬ 
ence, and he had ebbed back again, and stranded 
about half way between the two. The Jesuits 
execrated his name; he had played them false. 

Many such stories were afloat, but the one which 
seemed to have most coherency and probability 
about it, was to the effect that he was a young gen¬ 
tleman of private fortune, connected with a sub¬ 
stantial and honorable family in Holland. He had 
come to this country on his bridal trip, both of the 
pair mere children; and while here a child was 
born, who died when a few years old. The mother 
soon followed. During the sickness of the boy, 
Ai had been touched by the attentiveness of the 
poor villagers among whom they were cast; who 
did numerous little offices in their humble way for 
the child’s relief. He never returned to his native 
land, but tried to repay the poor by kindly deeds. 

This story was filled out variously as it was 
passed along. What gave it a substantial founda¬ 
tion was the fact that on a shelf in his room, stood 
a little iron locomotive and a train of cars. This 
little locomotive had been seen in every home 
containing a sick child, throughout that whole 
community. He would take it from place to place, 
and sit for hours and amuse the little invalids. 

<?8 


This had been going on for several years. When 
the machine needed brightening, he would buy a 
little red paint to freshen up the wheels. One day 
an accident happened, but he had the break re¬ 
paired at considerable expense, so precious was 
this particular plaything to him, as it went on its 
errands of mercy. 

But Ai was unapproachable on the subject, and 
nothing definite could be learned of the matter, 
and his chilling manner on this one point for¬ 
bade anyone from telling him what was said or 
supposed. 

The first time I met Ai I shall never forget, al¬ 
though it is now over fifty years ago. There 
was a small company at the Burrs’. A lawyer, a 
merchant, a neighbor who had come in accident¬ 
ally, and perhaps one or two others were there. I 
had never heard of Ai. One thing impressed its- 
self. We had spent the evening in light talk, 
with a cream of more serious conversation after the 
first hour, but during half of the evening, the 
stranger seemed to have nothing to say. The 
rest monopolized the conversation, and I had drop¬ 
ped him, supposing it to be a case of misfit; some 
relative, perhaps, brought there by courtesy, or 
maybe a casual visitor. Still, he did not seem al¬ 
together indifferent to what was said. He had a 
bright eye that sparkled, and as something might 
2 9 


interest him, he would turn in his chair nervously, 
check himself, and then settle down again without 
saying a word. The conversation had gone on for 
a long time, and the problems had apparently been 
settled; when Enid Burr turned, and addressing 
the quiet stranger, asked whether the matter was 
not capable of being revised—whether there was 
not a possible amendment. 

His eye flashed and in a gentle, .low voice, 
he asked the lawyer a question which seemed to 
stagger him. On receiving an answer he next 
asked the neighbor a question ; this answer seemed 
to please him, for he passed on to the next, and so 
made the circle. Such consummate catechising 
I never heard. He turned and overturned ; flung 
away and then brought back again ; he cut here 
and sewed up there, until the fabric bore little 
resemblance to its former self. For one hour he 
had the room to himself. No one seemed capable 
of uttering an independent thought; no one had 
the courage of an idea which was not inspired and 
brought on the scene by Ai. It was one of the 
most remarkable instances of successful argument 
that I had ever witnessed. What was so notice¬ 
able was the complete good humor that all main¬ 
tained. Each was taken in turn, thrown from his 
pedestal, had his wings clipped, and then was set 
back again, almost without knowing that it was 
30 



done. We were brought around to a position in 
which every one felt easy and at home, and yet 
which bore no resemblance to that which we had 
occupied before. Each felt that he really believed 
this; that it was a logical conclusion; and that we 
were now on a solid foundation; although it was 
almost a direct denial of the former position. And 
it was done in a way that left no sting; no one felt 
himself thrown or beaten ; and nothing but the 
utmost good humor prevailed. This is what Enid 
meant when she asked whether there might not be 
an amendment to this, or whether the matter was 
not capable of revision. 

We often met afterwards, but the impressions of 
that first meeting were only strengthened by our 
subsequent relations. “Let us get to the bottom 
of this; let us seek foundations,” he used to say. 
Enid roguishly called him the Amended and Re¬ 
vised Version; and in the numerous companies 
of distinguished people whom she gathered at her 
home, she had always stowed away in some ob¬ 
scure corner, Ai, whom she brought on the scene 
at the proper time. She used him as she would 
a race horse; nursed his strength until the last 
lap, and then gave the rein. Those who were 
let into the secret said that Ai was her trump which 
never failed. Old and knowing friends watched 
with great interest the game which new-comers 


played so guilelessly ; and it was a constant source 
of amusement to see how strangers were betrayed 
into many a seemingly inextricable thicket, out of 
which, however, they were always gallantly led in 
the end, by Ai. 

“Officer, can you tell me where Minster Street 
is?” 

“ Right here. For whom are you looking? ” 

The ladies explained, and the officer accom¬ 
panied them up the narrow street, and showed 
them the house. 

“Can you tell me where I will find Minster 
Street ? ” This time it was two young men. They 
also found their way up the slushy street. 

“It’s delightful to have you here,” said Ai to 
the bright company of young people who had 
gathered around a blazing fire. 

“Iam already convinced,” said one, as he ex¬ 
hibited his boots. “I am sorry,” replied Ai, 
“but I think you had better not rub it until it 
dries; it will come off.” 

“Iam glad I put on my rubber boots,” added 
one of the ladies. 

His eyes twinkled as he remarked that he would 
rather discuss these economic questions here, than 
in some of their homes. 

He had a little theory of his own, that one half 
of the world does not have a chance, and that it 
3 2 


would be a great gain to have these social ques-' 
tions threshed out right on the ground. To wade 
up the street was so convincing, and it made the 
argument so forceful, better than an illustrated 
article in a magazine. So they often met at Ai’s 
rooms. Sometimes they changed to Mrs. Burr’s. 


CHAPTER IV. 

A Thinking Man at Work. 


You make me strange, 

Even to the disposition that I owe, 

When now I think you can behold such sights. 

And keep the natural ruby of your cheeks, 

When mine are blanch’d with fear.— Shakespeare. 

After my first meeting with Ai at Mrs. Burr’s, I 
was anxious to see a little more of him. I found 
him one evening in his rooms on Minster Street. 
He had a gathering of a dozen boys in his large 
living room, which was also his study; the boys 
were looking over some old books, containing cu¬ 
rious wood-cuts, and finding amusement in the en¬ 
gravings of the magazines. Several were playing 
a game, and one or two preferred the fireside, 
where Ai was telling them something about the his¬ 
tory of the city, this very neighborhood in fact, 
which at one time was considered a suburb of the 
3 33 


city, and a very fine section, too; some of the 
houses out in the fields, surrounded by trees. This 
was long ago. There was the little brick house 
around the corner, that was once occupied by a 
man who became very rich ; his grandchildren were 
living, but scarcely knew of the existence of the 
homestead; they never came near the place, 
though living not so very far away, in great luxury 
and elegance. This little place was once consid¬ 
ered quite a homestead ; possibly the occupants of 
the old place were happier than the descendants. 

The boys said they had played hide-and-seek 
around every nook and corner, every court and 
lane, and it was all familiar to them ; but they had 
never known that the old buildings dated back to 
Revolutionary days; and when Ai told them of 
some well-known landmarks, they became quite in¬ 
terested. One of the boys was learning carpen¬ 
tering, and Ai told him of some fine speci¬ 
mens of arched doorways; such work, honest and 
lasting, was not to be seen nowadays. The boy 
said he would go and see for himself; he was es¬ 
pecially interested in dormer windows and cor¬ 
nices ; and Ai suggested that it would really be a 
fine thing if he could make drafts of some of the 
old pieces of architecture, and carry the idea out 
in the modern houses. There was a growing taste 
for the antique, and a new idea would be paid for; 

34 


he could get no newer idea than the old ones all 
around, and to be had for the looking, by an ob¬ 
serving, critical, and appreciative eye. 

Here another boy suggested that he was getting 
along nicely in his drawing, in the class which Ai 
had started, and that he could do the sketching 
for the carpenter, and they would form a sort of 
partnership. “ Yes, you can help one another; 
you can draw and he can construct; we are mu¬ 
tually dependent upon one artbther, and society 
will get along when we learn that fact.” 

“ There are some old spotted buildings on Race 
Street, near Front, and on Elfreth Street, and 
plenty of ’em along Front Street,” suggested a boy 
who had laid aside a game and had been attracted 
to the fireside group. They were colonial build¬ 
ings Ai suggested ; they used to build them with 
black and red bricks; the black bricks exposing 
the ends : it made a very compact and well-knit 
wall; and such mortar,—it was worth while laying 
bricks in such mortar. “It would also be worth 
your while,” he added, “ to find out how the mor¬ 
tar was made, and then search for a man who was 
honest enough to make it, after contracting.” 

The boys then leaned over closer and each made 
his contribution of information concerning some 
old building that was standing in some obscure 
court, but which must be very old, judging by 
35 


the door-ways and the spotted walls. “It’s a 
pity,” remarked a bushy-haired fellow, “it’s a 
pity they took away the house of William 
Penn.” “ It seems like taking an old tree up by 
the roots; it may grow, but it is probable that it 
will not,” added Ai; “ but this is a money-loving 
age; business and love of gain take the lead, and 
the old site was needed.” 

After thus amusing and instructing these boys, 
Ai asked me to go with him to see the gymna¬ 
sium. He set out a pile of books containing en¬ 
gravings of old landmarks, also a few architect¬ 
ural periodicals, and then left the boys to them¬ 
selves. He had about fifty boys present that 
night, in a deep cellar under a Church, which he 
had fitted up with swings and bars and every con¬ 
venience of a well-fitted gymnasium. A cellar he 
maintained was preferable to an upper room, as 
there was no jar on alighting in jumping; the 
low ceiling was a drawback, however; but it was 
cool, even in summer. “ This you see is under a 
Church ; it lies at the foundation of the making 
of men. You know, when you come to think 
about it, that this subject of amusements is one 
which we cannot evade; and to amuse one an¬ 
other rationally will soon be considered one of 
the duties between men. Many men are wicked 
because they have at some period not been 
36 


amused, or have been amused improperly. I have 
a friend, Impey, who prophesies the day when 
work will be the exception, only an incident in 
life, and when men will have more time for play; 
and in that day there will be scope for the develop¬ 
ment of this idea of recreation. Work will be 
properly remunerated; the fruits of toil more 
equitably distributed ; and this in connection with 
a more rational mode of living, to save the candle 
at the other end, will give us all more time for 
play. It is well worth our time to pay attention to 
the gospel of rational play.” 

He had fitted up a swimming-bath in the rear; 
and some of the boys were in it, having a hilarious 
time. “The body,” said he, “must be kept 
clean, and then there is a chance of men respect¬ 
ing themselves; but not before. It would be in¬ 
teresting to inquire how many families in this 
large city are still strangers to the bath-tub. I 
examined into the matter, and the revelation set 
me thinking. When men have scarcely room for 
sleeping decently, a room for the bath is out of 
the question. This bath is kept going all day, 
and until late into the night; a rotation of boys and 
men, women and girls, at different hours. It is 
their bath ; they pay their attendant and keep it 
in order ; a very small fee only is required. One 
day the pipe became clogged, and the bath was 
37 


closed; I told them it was their affair; they had 
not paid their little contributions. After that 
they were regularly paid ; and the whole was put 
on a self-supporting basis.” 

As we passed through the gymnasium on our 
return, he called my attention to a singular feat¬ 
ure of gymnasium life. “I wonder,” said he, 
‘ ‘ whether that boy who is beating that sand-bag 
so zealously, would split kindlings for his sister. 
There used to visit the rooms of the Y. M. C. A., 
a genius who walked himself almost to death in 
the ring, but always came and left in the cars. 
A number of youths conscientiously taking care of 
their health would strip and go through the evo¬ 
lutions, but had never been guilty of bringing up 
coal or removing ashes. It is one of the most 
interesting fields to the philosopher, this subject of 
gymnasiums. If some one could only by some 
secret contrivance, catch and utilize this expendi¬ 
ture of physical force and make it productive in 
the direction of providing the necessaries of life, 
it would at least feed and clothe the number who 
visit such places. They say Burr is working out 
an electric conceit that will work a revolution 
some day. Burr maintains that there is enough 
expenditure of energy at a dance, of say fifty per¬ 
sons, in one evening, to propel the cars on the 
Ridge Avenue line for a whole week ; and all 

38 


this is wasted. Now the bother is how to pro¬ 
pel those cars and at the same time not spoil the 
fun of the evening. Burr thinks the railroad men 
would pay a little price to get the precious force 
now wasted at the dances of the Assembly. Have 
you ever thought about it ! Did you ever see 
horses sweat like those youths and gay maidens 
in their innocent glee? ” 

He then led me up a narrow winding stairway 
into the Church over the gymnasium. He was 
having some alterations made ; an arch was being 
constructed about midway, leaving one half of the 
Church with raised platform for singers, the seats 
facing one another ; while the other half was for 
the congregation. He had, he said, gathered 
about fifty girls whom he had trained to sing; and 
they being mostly poorly clad were uniformed in 
white surplices, thus obliterating any distinction in 
their dress. A few of the workingmen also thought 
they ought to have preaching; so a little bird’s 
nest pulpit was hung just outside the arch. “You 
see,” he explained, “ we were having mostly con¬ 
ferences and discussions up to this time ; but now 
they would like to have formal addresses occa¬ 
sionally, and I think it will do no harm, and may 
do good.” 

“ You do not preach then ? ” I inquired. “ O, 
no; O dear no; never did,”.he replied. 

39 


“ The matter has been rather an informal affair; 
these people came to me one at a time and the lit¬ 
tle company grew, I scarcely know how. There 
were a number of colored laborers among them, 
who thought we ought to have a ’Church, for we 
talked of the rights of the laborer, and were on 
the side of the desolate and the oppressed, and 
stood up for justice in all things; there were 
bodies who did not go so far as that, and who 
yet had churches. If they had a right, we had. 
And so they began; and the result, in a few 
years, was this little’ Church. The gymnasium 
was there before, and the Church was built over it 
as an after thought. At first we had our meetings, 
at which I suggested a subject; sometimes read a 
little paper by way of introduction, and then the 
matter was thrown open for general discussion. It 
excited a great deal of interest; and it has been a 
revelation to me to find how these fellows think. 
The good sense and practical ideas of which these 
men with rough exteriors give evidence, is really 
quite astonishing. You must come around some¬ 
time ; but you must not talk; you will find it 
hard to keep quiet of course ; but they are back¬ 
ward when there is fine speech about. 

“ And now they think they ought to have their 
preacher. I suggested it ought to be one of their 
number; they ought to select the one of deepest 
40 


thought and most practical sense. On the evening 
of the election a little talk was indulged in, in which 
one speaker maintained that he knew one who was 
very eloquent, a good speaker, and who would do. 
Another followed in which he reminded the 
speaker who had just sat down that it was a man 
among their number of deepest thought and prac¬ 
tical sense that was suggested, and now there was 
talk of eloquence and good fluent speech. There 
was danger on the score of words, wind in fact; 
there was plenty of that; what they needed was 
one who would lead them in thought. 

“ The result of it all was that a big-headed Afri¬ 
can was chosen. He was slow of speech, but said 
more in one sentence than the whole meeting 
could digest for the following week; and he al¬ 
ways closed with the question, ‘And now what are 
its practical aspects, how are you to live this out ? * 
He is one of the few men of color who have 
learned a trade; and is really an expert carpenter; 
he has gathered quite a little library on building 
and construction; a few of those books the boys 
had belong to him. 

“ That pulpit was constructed by him and is really 
quite a piece of art. These addresses were to be 
only occasional, so as to avoid the snag of per- 
functorial formalism. The preacher was to speak 
when he had anything to say ; and under no cir- 
4i 


cumstance was he expected to speak merely to ful¬ 
fil an appointment. He could also command any¬ 
one to ascend the pulpit if he saw evidence of the 
gift of thought .” 

Ai then led me into a little room, a sort of 
workshop, fitted up with carpenter’s bench and a 
great variety of tools. Here he said he had given 
boys the first introduction to the use of tools, 
which afterwards led in many instances to their 
learning a trade. He was anxious that the colored 
youth should learn trades and open out various 
avenues through which they could maintain them¬ 
selves ; now they seemed to be shut in and limited 
to a few sources of livelihood. 

He then took down a roll of papers and spread 
them out on the bench. They were the plans of a 
block of buildings in process of erection just back 
of the Church. The condition of the courts had 
been simply dreadful; the poor people huddled to¬ 
gether like cattle ; and the surface drainage pre¬ 
vented all decent living. He had called the at¬ 
tention of Burr to the matter; and, on inquiring, 
found that Mrs. Burr owned property there, in the 
hands of an agent, the location of which was not 
even known to her. She made a visit herself one 
day, and came again in the evening to see the 
nigbt life. 

She was taken sick and was laid up for a week 
42 


with nervous prostration after what she saw and 
heard ; and right on her own property, too. They 
were now having the matter attended to; and 
while they were about it they got other property 
owners interested, neighbors of the Hamiltons and 
pew holders in the same Church, who also were in¬ 
formed by their agents that the property was 
theirs. 

“You see' we have the whole block now, with 
all the courts in the rear; and this is the plan upon 
which the new buildings will be erected. Of 
course all the rookeries will be torn down, and the 
wells filled up, and a complete system of drainage 
will be constructed throughout. The buildings 
will be two stories higher, but that will give more 
room for open spaces ; and instead of the numer¬ 
ous courts lined with one story shanties we will 
build rooms upward and convert the little courts 
into an attractive park; every family having an 
outlook upon this park. And I have made sure to 
arrange that the same poor people who have been 
displaced from their mean homes, will really come 
back and occupy the improved dwellings. There 
will be no moving in of a different class of people, 
paying higher rents, and then having this pass as 
an improvement of the neighborhood and an eleva¬ 
tion of the inhabitants. Nothing of the sort. The 
same people will live there ; there will be no driv- 
43 


ing out of the very people who need this, and the 
bringing in of a class who do not need it. 

“See, here will be a music stand for summer 
night concerts. There is considerable home 
talent among the poor, and they will be encour¬ 
aged to organize and make their contribution to 
the common weal. The orgies are simply fright¬ 
ful. These musicians will be sought out and 
brought together.” 

Then he spread out another plan, giving the de¬ 
tails of the dwellings. “These,” said he, “are 
really not the original drawings; the original 
drawings can scarcely be recognized after Enid 
Burr’s alterations. It takes a woman to plan the 
inside of a home and to secure closets and other 
handy arrangements. She laughs at the idea of a 
man being the architect of the inside of a home ; 
and to see the plans of some houses one must con¬ 
fess that she has the better of the argument. They 
are getting under way with the buildings, and I 
hope to see the poor people soon settled in their 
new homes. 

“ Many have gone to the country, where they are 
employed in berrying and fruiting; they live in 
tents, mostly, and it gives an opportunity to 
build without much inconvenience to them. 

“ They say this new venture has created a great 
interest; and the prospect is that there will be a 
44 


general hauling down of the rookeries. Enid Burr 
is carrying the question right into the enemy’s 
camp. Last summer at Bar Harbor, she won over 
a host of the elite who are spending at expensive 
hotels the money paid in rents by these wretched 
poor. That woman is a host.” 

He then suggested that we return to the boys in 
his room. My time was limited, and I took leave 
of him at the end of the narrow, filthy street, the 
stench of the surface drainage almost suffocating 
me. “I don’t like it myself,” said he, “but it 
seems it is the only way to bring us thoughtless 
and heartless souls to a sense of the condition of 
things. I breathed this air and that set me think¬ 
ing. Men are good-hearted enough, but they 
don’t think; and we must do something to make 
them think. One half does not know how the 
other half lives, and we must get both halves to 
think. ’ ’ 


CHAPTER V. 

A Working Man A-thinking. 

On Beauty’s foot, your slippers glance, 

By Saratoga’s fountains, 

Or twinkle down the summer dance 
Beneath the Crystal Mountains.— Whittier. 

Much of my information was secured through 
45 


ray friend Impey, whose active life covered the 
period of which I write. As Impey plays so large 
a part in our world, perhaps a little personal in¬ 
formation would not be out of place. 

Mr. Israel Impey, after graduating from Har¬ 
vard, came to Philadelphia a young man of 
twenty-three, and secured unimportant positions 
in several offices for a year. During this year the 
labor troubles of sixty years ago caused agitations 
with regard to the hours that should constitute a 
day’s work , and Impey took an active interest in 
the matter, taking the ground that men labored 
too much and needed more time for recreation. 
He maintained that a single man could support 
himself by laboring three hours a day; and by 
the time a man got ready to marry, his skill and 
experience ought to enable him to maintain a 
household by laboring six hours per day. This 
was not all a theory with Impey, but he set about 
to make an actual demonstration of it, and chose 
shoemaking as his means of livelihood. This for 
several reasons. In the village where he was 
born, he had spent as a boy a good deal of his 
time loitering around shoemakers’ shops, and had 
actually served a year, during which time he had 
developed a remarkable skill for making a com¬ 
plete shoe. He was a shoemaker who made a com¬ 
plete shoe. The race has almost died out, and 
46 


only in the remote districts are to be found old 
men who can boast of being shoemakers. The 
cities are full of vampers and heelers, but Impey is 
a shoemaker. This little accident of having a trade 
was one of the reasons that guided him in his 
choice. But aside from the fact of knowing the 
trade, he maintained that there was no other em¬ 
ployment that afforded him so much practical leis¬ 
ure. He cotdd control his hours, and that was 
everything. The machinist must conform to the 
demands of his employer ; the physician must go 
when called for; the financier must compete with 
other financiers ; all trades and employments are 
surrounded by circumstances which make long 
hours imperative. But while at shoemaking a man 
can refuse orders, reduce his working hours at his 
pleasure, and when work is done, has no cares and 
anxieties, and can devote himself to self improve¬ 
ment and congenial leisurely occupation. He 
can close business in three days, fulfill all his 
obligations and disappoint nobody; and this ad¬ 
vantage of extricating oneself is one of the luxur¬ 
ies of living. The lawyer cannot do it,—his cases 
are pending ; the physician cannot—humanity de¬ 
mands that he should not desert a case; banking, 
manufacturing on a large scale, railroading—all 
the employments of life seem characterized by this, 
that when you are once in them you cannot get 
47 


out. They are rat-traps; or they are play-houses— 
you wish to stay until it is all over; they compel you 
to go on ; they place you under obligations. It is 
death only that will extricate you and even then 
your friends will not excuse you, but will think 
themselves wronged; they will think your obliga¬ 
tions not fulfilled and will see you to your grave 
with hearts filled with blame, if not resentment. 
Impey philosophically went over the-whole matter 
and settled upon shoemaking, which met with his 
ideal of combining labor with plenty of leisure, 
during which he could gratify his taste for litera¬ 
ture. And as said before, he happened to have a 
skill with awl and pegs; but that was a mere acci¬ 
dent; he would have reasoned himself into the same 
position, had he never seen an awl; and his prac¬ 
tical turn of mind would have led him to learn the 
trade even had he been obliged to go to a remote 
district or to some foreign country to do so. Im¬ 
pey opened his shop at No. 3, Chancery Lane, a 
narrow street running off Arch Street, below Sec¬ 
ond; in a quaint colonial house with fine arched 
doorway, hip roof and dormer window. He 
hung out a lady’s shoe, with information that it 
had been made complete within, and that each 
shoe would be mended as long as desired, free of 
cost. The novelty attracted attention, and the 
young business men, who had their ware-houses in 
48 


that district sixty years ago, talked of the matter 
to their wives and suggested that it would be a 
good thing to get their shoes there; the cobbling 
would be thrown in ; besides the shoe was unmis¬ 
takably a genuine hand-made shoe. It never oc¬ 
curred to the young husbands that the shoe was a 
lady’s shoe, and they learned the limitations of the 
business when they applied for measurements and 
were peremptorily refused. Impey catered only to 
ladies and that also decided the matter that the 
cobbling was exclusively for ladies; which also 
had a peculiar interest, as we shall see farther on. 
That matter alone caused comment, which was an 
advertisement. The ladies of course admired his 
gallantry, and the husbands saw in it an advantage, 
as it made a man more skillful when devoted to one 
particular line of work; so the business at once 
grew into fair proportions, and by and by Impey 
was necessitated to refuse orders and confine him¬ 
self to his regular customers. Everything was ar¬ 
ranged and regulated in a business-like way. He 
knew how many pairs of shoes they would order per 
year, and when, and the price ; and allowing for 
the cobbling he had reduced the whole to a sys¬ 
tem, which made his income regular and ample, 
and gave him that leisure which he so much de¬ 
sired, and which he maintained would be a sine 
4 49 


qua non attending all employments when society 
should be properly and sanely constituted. 

What, however, gave no little impetus to his 
business, aside from the excellent workmanship, 
was the literary bent which he exhibited. Belated 
business men would pass the lighted window and 
see him pondering over some huge volume, by the 
light of a large lamp suspended low by his knees, 
after the custom of cobblers. The window had a 
solitary pair of ladies’ shoes, with the note con¬ 
cerning the cobbling, which was to be thrown in, 
and the rest of the window was piled with maga¬ 
zines, reviews, books, and papers in infinite 
variety. It was puzzling to many, and it was 
quite often taken for a second-hand book store. 
No one ever saw him cobble by lamp-light, as was 
so universally the custom, with cobblers, but the 
Review or the latest book occupied his evening 
leisure. All this seemed odd, and the talk it 
caused brought him instantaneous success. 

He might have been considered odd at first ac¬ 
quaintance, but no one thought him so who really 
knew him. Those who expected to see a man with 
a certain flash of genius, but with unmistakable 
marks of the half educated mechanic, were sure to 
be surprised. He was a graduate of Harvard ; and 
all the culture there obtained was only sharpened 
by years. If on the other hand anyone expected 
5o 


to find a true literary genius, but slouchy and re¬ 
pulsive and utterly unfit for polite society, he was 
soon disabused of his preconceived opinions, by 
seeing a gentleman in every sense of the word, in 
dress and manners thoroughly in accord with the 
usages of the best society. When on the bench 
he wore rough substantial clothing and the conven¬ 
tional shoemaker’s apron. He loved the loose fitting 
shoes or slippers unmended, usual to shoemakers. 
This was no affectation, but it gave him comfort 
while at work. Those who expected to see the 
cobbler at work in a neat, tailor-made, well- 
brushed suit, paid little compliment to his good 
sense and habit of adaptation. His dress was the 
conventional shoemakers’, and any deviation from 
it would have been an affectation which he 
scorned. When, however, his three hours’ work was 
over, he would take his bath, arrange his toilet, 
and step out upon the pavement in as neat a cos¬ 
tume as was to be seen on Chestnut Street. This 
was really a matter of economy, he maintained. 
The genius who affects baggy trousers, and oddly 
cut coat, and remarkable hat, pays a premium for 
the cut. It is cheaper to buy a hat in the market, 
and clothes that are made for the season. Fashion 
did not enslave him, but his purse dictated that he 
had better follow it within prudent lines. His 
custom was to spend his mornings in the book 
5 1 


stores and libraries, where he was a well known 
visitor. He preferred the morning when his mind 
was fresh and receptive. At one o’clock precisely, 
he would don his rough clothes, and go to his 
bench, and work until four. This rested his brain 
and brought him bread. He then would dress 
again, take a promenade on some busy street, 
look at windows and study character, and then de¬ 
vote his evenings to such society engagements as he 
might have. He had a little alcove curtained off 
from his room, in which he slept; a mat covered one 
half of his room, and a corner was exclusively de¬ 
voted to his work and its litter, which was kept 
unusually brushed and tended. His room 
frequented by ladies was not unsightly, neither was 
it characterized by such primness as to make his 
trade seem incongruous to the place. There was 
a happy medium between primness and slovenli¬ 
ness, which never called forth remark, but which 
was really remarkable. He believed in good liv¬ 
ing. A man, to be really and fully a man, must 
be properly fed. He traced the iniquities of the 
day to bad feeding. One half of the world is un¬ 
derfed and the other half overfed, he maintained ; 
and so men have a hard time living rightly. He 
dined at no particular place, but was in the habit 
of changing about, at one restaurant and then at 
another; and if his appetite did not call for it, 
5 2 


at none. This was not penuriousness, it was fol¬ 
lowing a law of nature. If his appetite called for 
it he would go to the best hotel, order the most 
expensive and elaborate dinner, and take all the 
time he desired, and make a success of his under¬ 
taking. The time of year, the weather, his health, 
all had a regulating influence. He lived regularly 
and well, and he believed in it; and to do so, a 
man without vices need not work more than 
three hours per day. This was a fundamental 
doctrine of his, and he gave the matter a practi¬ 
cal test; and the change of mind on this subject 
wrought during the past fifty years was brought 
about largely by the personal influence of Israel 
Impey. He was no empty dreamer, no impracti¬ 
cable theorist, but his cool every day demonstrations 
infected those around him. “ There is a man who 
does not believe in working fast nor in living 
fast,” was remarked many times a day as he was 
met in his daily promenades. 

<£ Men burn the candle at both ends, that is the 
trouble,” he used to say. “ They live too fast and 
then try to make up by working, which is lighting 
the other end. Work is an accident of the 
world. Play and congenial employment ought to 
be the rule; and when we rationalize our leisure, 
we will have more of it, and the toil of life will 
be reduced to a minimum. We must stop the 
53 


leaks; senseless luxuries, and riotous indulgence 
are two of them; when these are stopped, the 
inflow need not be so large.” 


CHAPTER VI. 
A Little Leaven. 


A merry bridal life, fair as a legend, vast as a dream.— Ibsen. 


The Burrs had become settled in their homes 
on Congress Street. The twin houses had been 
connected by the covered veranda, which was 
overrun with blooming roses. At the other side 
of each house was built a smaller porch for the 
private use of the family. It was an Edenic, happy 
life they led, full of little romances and incidents. 
The veranda was used in common, and here they 
mingled daily and entertained their friends. 

The poor of the neighborhood were made wel¬ 
come there ; and when the nights became cool, 
they found a welcome by the fireside, and partook 
of the amenities of these happy homes. 

They l^y a mutual arrangement had a common 
table, and meals throughout the warm season were 
served on the veranda, which was a fairy bower of 
plants and vines. This with the bright and taste- 
54 


ful dresses of the sisters, accompanied by cheerful 
and helpful conversation, made the scene one which 
had its healthful influence upon such as thought 
little of the hour of refreshment as a season of re¬ 
laxation and delight. 

11 Look at that happy picture,” the passers-by 
would say; and many such a picture has since been 
created; and slips from those vines and flowers 
have sprouted in many humble homes throughout 
the neighborhood. The happiness in this home 
became contagious. The brothers always came 
home for their meals and the intervals were too 
long and the stays too short. It was one of the 
marked features of this movement toward the an¬ 
cestral homes that husbands now came home at noon 
and brought their business friends with them. The 
home-life was emphasized and this brought about 
the decay of the saloon. The twin sisters played 
their little pranks and there was infinite amuse¬ 
ment in the little mistakes the twin brothers fell 
into while trying to identify their wives. The 
brides would persist in dressing alike; every wave 
in their hair, every blush in their cheeks, were 
exactly alike; even the dimples were placed with 
mathematical exactness. They were the pretty 
Hamilton girls; and where one was invited they 
both appeared, and when one only was meant 
the other frequently substituted with impunity. 
55 


This roguishness never deserted them, and it had 
its sequels of merriment. To get over the mat¬ 
ter each husband kissed both the pretty wives 
and then made a guess, and particularized; and 
then to make sure that no mistake was made, 
kissed both again. And thus the coming home 
of tired husbands was rich with fun and merri¬ 
ment. 

There was only one mark to distinguish them 
—the clear bell-like voice of Enid. No one can 
describe a voice that charms. You can describe 
a voice that grates upon your nerves, but a voice 
that charms is hard to tell about, it simply 
charms. Both voices were pleasing, but Enid’s 
charmed. So it was necessary to suppress the 
laugh; and many a jest fell flat before the tell¬ 
tale laugh was extracted. 

This matter of twins had its practical conven¬ 
iences. One-half the worry about the wardrobes 
was saved; each in turn trusted the other in se¬ 
lection, and they always ordered double. They 
took turns at shopping, and there never was the 
slightest dissatisfaction. They were born with 
tastes alike. The culinary arrangements were also 
greatly simplified, for the choice of one proved 
the choice of the other, and the good husbands 
never lost confidence in their judgment. 

This joyous bridal life continued until the end 
56 


of the second year, when a baby girl was born 
to Enid. From this date on the little deceptions 
were rendered more difficult. The babe knew no 
stranger, and unhesitatingly chose its mother for 
bosom friend, and never made a mistake. This 
led to numerous inglorious betrayals when the old 
tricks were attempted. The little girl would come 
upon the scene at an inconvenient time; and one 
day when in a spirit of banter an experiment was 
made, it knew its own father. It was voted a 
great girl and a wise one, by the merry company. 
And all this happiness within spread to the homes 
around. The high and ugly fence that once sur¬ 
rounded the premises was taken down, and the 
beauty of the place became common property. 
The little group of trees with their fine cool shade 
had under them restful benches plentifully cov¬ 
ered with cheerful paint. 

Tired mothers brought their little ones to romp 
and play on the lawn. A few hammocks and 
swings were hung and all was placed at the dis¬ 
posal of any who needed them. They proved a 
great blessing and many availed themselves of the 
cool shade and the cheerful surroundings. An ar¬ 
tesian well was sunk several hundred feet deep, the 
analysis of the water proving it to contain medicinal 
qualities, and the place was regarded as a sanitar¬ 
ium for sickly children. A chest filled with med- 
57 



icines and bandages was placed near the door and 
Alice Burr was the medical adviser of the poor. 
Her busy life afforded her yet a little time for the 
pursuit of studies in the science of health, and she 
had gathered quite a little library. The curious 
could not quite make out what school she belonged 
to, Allopathic or Homeopathic, she used that which 
healed, and skipped from- one to the other. 

They had great faith in her, and this confidence, 
excited by her sympathy and personal interest^ 
made medicines less necessary, and she believed in 
the use of few medicines and plenty of sanitation. 
She emphasized the preventive methods. She 
preached the gospel of pure soap, and a plenty of 
water, and had a row of bath tubs for babies in 
constant use. But the trouble was with clean 
clothing. In the struggle for bread, the wardrobe 
was sadly forgotten, and this brought many piti¬ 
ful facts to her notice. She gave special instruc¬ 
tion in sanitation, and personally took a stitch to 
lead others in the way. 

One of the helpful plans was her encouragement 
to pluck the flowers. The r was no wistful longing 
look at the bright flowers, that remained ungrati¬ 
fied. Yet there was no wanton waste, for the 
boys and girls understood. There were upon the 
table on the veranda a number of magnifying 
glasses and a portfolio of specimens and charts; 
58 


and every boy could have a flower if he first 
looked, examined, analyzed, distinguished, named, 
and made intelligently his own. Thus during va¬ 
cation days there was quite a class in botany ; this 
led to intelligent plucking. These little classes 
spread throughout the neighborhood ; the more in¬ 
telligent became little lecturers. Glasses were 
given as birthday gifts. At times grand parties 
were organized, and many children were led away 
from the narrow streets to the fields and hills. 
Many supposed they were having a pleasure trip, 
but they really were studying botany; some 
thought they were studying botany, but they really 
were getting health. 

Thus this bridal life began in the unselfish seek¬ 
ing of others’ happiness, and in it all they found 
their own. 


CHAPTER VII. 

A Feast of Reason. 


How many a thought is split up, how many a vigorous will is dulled, 
how many a bold cry is deadened, by a contracted, narrow-minded 
soul like that —Brand. 

“ I will be home as usual for dinner and I may 
bring a friend along, a friend too of Edison’s, 
quite a scientist; ” and the electrician passed 
59 


out. The other Burr added that he too might 
bring a friend. It used to be treat. “ Well, that 
will be nice,” said Enid, “ for Ai is coming to see 
about something in the plans for the new tene¬ 
ments, and I will ask him to stay; your friends 
will be glad to meet him.” At this Alice grew 
interested, for her mind was set running on what- 
she should provide; for it had fallen to her lot 
to be the caterer, through natural fitness and a 
consummate genius for making dainty little dishes, 
entirely original, which kept her friends forever 
asking her for the receipts, they were so delicious. 
And now she might as well ask the bishop down ; 
it was a little late, but a note would reach him at 
once, as he would certainly be in at office hours, 
and he would be sure to come, he always did, no 
matter how short the notice. Alice’s cheeks 
burned at the thought of the numerous little com¬ 
pliments which the prelate had paid her; and she 
resolved to do herself justice by again providing 
something that would surely merit the bishop’s 
approval. The bishop had a weakness for pastry, 
and if there was anything Alice Burr excelled in, 
it was her dainty pastry and exquisite desserts. 
She had something entirely new, and the bishop 
must be made one of the company. The brothers, 
who had started for business, had forgotten their 
bags, and returned. They found it difficult to 
60 


leave that happy home, their pretty wives enticing 
them. One had put on her long white working 
apron, reaching to her chin, and was standing 
before a high desk upon which was pinned the half 
finished plans of the tenements; the other had a 
like apron, and was getting together the materials 
for the pastry. It was a scene that explained the 
reason why the Burr brothers longed to get home, 
and why they were so anxious to have their friends 
come with them, and occupy the empty chairs 
which were always placed at the table. 

When the brothers were seen returning, the wives 
exchanged places, and Alice affected a knowledge 
of lines and angles while Enid seemed to love 
pastry making. But their little .snare miscarried ; 
the baby was brought in and defeated their plans 
ingloriously, and the brothers were pushed out 
upon the veranda and the- door bolted after 
them. 

The conversation at the table turned upon social 
topics. 

“ We will have taken a great stride in the solu¬ 
tion of this matter,” said Ai, “ when we are wise 
enough to apply to the slums the same principles 
and the same common sense that the farmer does 
in raising his choice fruits or breeding his cattle.” 
At this the bishop looked up but said nothing, he 
61 



did not seem to understand, and so directed his 
attention again to his plate. 

“Very true,” interjected Mr. Summers, the 
electrician, and the friend of Edison ; “the sooner 
we apply scientific principles in all these matters, 
the better. Man is an animal; there are grades 
of course, but he is an animal, and subject to laws, 
and we must recognize them.” 

“I propose to do so,” continued Ai, “and 
will raise my people in the slums on scientific 
principles, just like a herd of cattle.” 

At this the bishop looked up again, but it was only 
momentarily; he said nothing. Then Alice asked 
sweetly whether they were not a little better than 
cattle. 

“ That is just what I think ; a great deal better; 
md therefore we should seek to treat them at least 
as well as cattle, which is hardly the case at 
present; I cannot, however, go into that matter 
now, but only refer you to the interesting fact of 
Mr. Midas’s stable, which he has built with all 
the modern improvements ; and then the other in¬ 
teresting fact, the place which his stable boy sleeps 
in down in the slums ; but I am sure Midas does 
not know it; even he would alter matters if he 
did.” 

“What are some of your scientific principles?” 
asked the friend of Edison. 

62 


** We must lay it down as a bard and fast rule 
that humanity as we find it in the slums can only 
be improved on principles of Natural Selection.” 

“ By that, you mean what ? ” 

“ That men can be improved only by aiding and 
cultivating the fittest; the farmer would say, by 
killing off bad stock, and carefully crossing the 
best stock, and giving them scientific attention 
with regard to housing and feeding. The gardener 
would say, by rooting out and burning up the 
weeds, and giving plenty of room thereby to the 
good plants, that need nourishment and careful 
scientific attention.” 

The eye of the scientist twinkled. Alice felt 
bewildered at the bloodshed suggested. Enid 
thought the plan of proper housing a sound one. 

The bishop had ceased listening, in his efforts 
to do justice to the feast which Alice so carefully 
had provided. 

“ First of all, we must kill off the diseased and 
maimed cattle, and then secondly we must breed 
carefully the fittest; these are the two lines of 
action ; and it must be done scientifically; we 
must do just as nature does in everything; the 
process is a slow one, but sure, and will be inter¬ 
esting to the social philosopher.” 

Alice again mildly asked whether we had a right 
to kill men to improve the rest, just like cattle. 

6 3 


“We are doing it,” fiercely suggested Impey, 
who had just then come in, a little late, he said, 
on account of the cars. “Do we not kill men 
with the rope, as we would no animal on the face 
of this beautiful earth.” 

Ai then explained that the diseased and sickly 
cattle were killed to avoid propagating their kind, 
and that was the thing to be aimed at by the 
social philosopher and society improver; “you 
must mark your imperfect man and then cut off his 
line of descent." All raised their eyebrows but 
one. 

Alice had asked the bishop whether he would 
not have another dish and then insisted, if only 
to keep her company, and then they became de¬ 
voted to one another. 

Edison’s friend remarked that there was enough 
of this damning children before they were born. 
Those priests were right in baptizing babies for 
their good before they were born, as the theo¬ 
logians admit has been done; the principle was a 
sound one; if it did any good at all, that was 
the time—before they were born ; many were 
damned as early, and if anything availed that 
was a fitting time to begin. 

Here Impey took another cup of coffee and 
smiled at the drift the conversation was taking, 
and suggested they did not need any stimulant 
64 


from him to bring them to the truth. Summers 
said, “Here your statesman and legislator would 
come to our aid very fittingly if they were social 
philosophers ; but it is sad, very sad. The unfit 
come under the cognizance of the law in a perfect 
society, and by a separation from society the line 
of descent can be cut off. I would have your 
habitual criminal treated as a diseased person. 
The stern facts of inheritance must be faced, and 
means taken to prevent the propagation of the 
morally diseased. You must look after the dis¬ 
eased moral nature, as you would the yellow 
fever. Yet how slow the public mind moves in 
this matter. We officer a boat to quarantine the 
infected vessel, and then allow to run at large the 
morally diseased, and permit them to spread their 
polluted selves over the whole fabric of society. 
Heroic measures are adopted in case of an 
epidemic, but we are still blind to the proper ex¬ 
pedients to be employed to prevent the spread of 
the evil traits of the criminal.” 

“ The criminal,” added Impey “ must become 
as one dead to the world, killed for practical 
purposes. The scientific breeding of men and the 
raising of the standard of manhood is yet in its 
infancy.” 

“ You are an unmarried man I believe,” sug¬ 
gested Burr, to the merriment of the company. 
5 6 5 


“So you would not really kill, as they do the 
aged and the maimed in some heathen countries,” 
softly asked Alice, “ that, it would seem, were 
not humane.” 

“No, they must be killed for ail practical 
purposes; human scientific treatment must be 
applied to criminals; they are diseased. Some are 
more hopeful cases than others, and can be re¬ 
stored to health.” 

“I think the indefinite term of imprisonment 
is the proper thing,” added Summers, “you 
quarantine your ship until the disease has been 
exterminated, but your judges still sentence to a 
definite term of days. Think of a doctor setting 
a time in which to do his work; to cure a stub¬ 
born rheumatism, or to get a baby born for in¬ 
stance.” “ That would be a popular practitioner, 
if he were always successful,” suggested Enid. 

The company laughed hilariously, and the 
bishop woke up confusedly, and wondered at 
what it might be. 

“ Your preacher is not so much needed as your 
doctor,” explained Impey, for the bishop’s bene¬ 
fit, “ and you must have the co-operation of your 
philosophical legislator so as to be able to coerce 
the diseased portion of society, bring them under 
proper restraint, and thus hinder the descent of 
the incurable, and restore to active usefulness 
66 


the hopeful. Less preaching and more scientific 
treatment.” 

“Still you will admit the Church to have been 
a powerful factor in the world,” interposed the 
bishop, nerving himself up to a proper and digni¬ 
fied defence. 

“Yes, in the-past,” replied Impey; “but her 
influence in the future will depend largely upon 
her adaptation to the times, and her brightness in 
keeping abreast with the intelligence and throb¬ 
bing thought of the age.” 

“Your salads are delicious,” said the bishop, 
turning to Alice, and then he again dropped out 
of the general conversation. 

“The stolidness of the ecclesiastical mind with 
regard to the apprehension of scientific facts, is 
amazing, as for instance in Italy, where the at¬ 
tempt to disinfect the cholera districts resulted in 
the murder of the officials, and where priestly 
processions' and holy water took the place of 
quarantine and carbolic acid.” This broadside 
of Impey’s was not even heard by the bishop, who 
was an excellent judge of delicacies, and had now 
become interested in a little conversation with 
Alice with regard to a new dish. 

“This undoubtedly is the first thing we must 
make society see,” said Ai; “ that society grows 
better or worse according to natural laws, and 
67 


that these laws must be recognized; and the first 
thing to be done is to kill, as the herdsman would 
say, or weed out, as the farmer would term it, or 
put under restraint, as the officer of the law would 
have it; and thus hinder a propagating of diseased 
cattle, stop the spreading of noxious weeds, and 
prevent the generating of a rotten society. In short 
we must suppress the idle, the vicious, and incompe¬ 
tent, and help the industrious and well inten- 
tioned.” 

“To do this,” added Enid, “is a herculean 
task; the matter of suppressing alone meets with 
many oppositions, even from some who seem to 
have the welfare of society at heart. There is a 
friend of mine who cannot resist importuning the 
magistrate whenever a man who has beaten his 
wife gets into the House of Correction. She 
has freed a number, who have gone on beating, 
and bringing to the birth children meanwhile, 
who add to the burden of the poor dishearted wo¬ 
man in her efforts to support the family, includ¬ 
ing the vagabond husband.” 

“Such sentimental women ought themselves be 
restrained,” remarked Burr, the electrician. 

“ And the magistrates ought to take the place of 
the vagabonds,” suggested the other Burr. 

“ Then,” continued Enid, “another hindrance 
to suppression is indiscriminate feeding. We do 
68 


not feed our vermin, but we make fat these pests, 
and allow them to crawl over the face of society, 
and imagine ourselves philanthropic in so doing. 
There are still some who give to beggars on the 
street. A good deal has however been done by 
our methods of organized charity, and there is a 
feeling after a more rational method in our re¬ 
lief. It is all yet imperfect, but we are intending 
good, and we will gradually feel our way to the 
right and the light, and then even the most senti¬ 
mental will come and join us in our efforts to¬ 
ward rational relief.” 

“I have my pockets full of wood-pile tickets,” 
said Impey, “ but no one seems to want them. I 
am accosted by swarthy fellows by the half dozen 
every day, but I have not gotten rid of a ticket for 
a long time ; mention the Wayfarer’s Lodge, and 
they dodge around the corner in an instant.” 
And then fearing the conversation was taking a 
too pessimistic tone, Ai remarked : “ It is interest¬ 
ing to see how in our efforts to quarantine the 
evil ones, we find many, even in the heart of 
the slums themselves, who are only incompetent; 
they are not vicious, not intemperate, but seem 
well disposed, and there are some old persons 
who command our pity and sense of justice. 
These must be cared for; easy labor must be given 
them; and there opens here a work and labor of 



love which is infinite in its ramification nd is a 
wide field for those who want some helpful work 
to do. These incompetent persons can be wisely 
aided by the personal service of those stronger 
and more able; and to secure such personal serv¬ 
ice is the great need of our day.” 

“ Yes,” interjected Impey, “give all a free 
wide field and a fair chance; but if one will not 
work and will persist in his vagabondage, then he 
comes under the cognizance of the law, and his 
liberty must be abridged.” 

“There are then two things we have found out,” 
mused Ai; “ first, quarantine the evil classes; and 
secondly, plant on good ground the deserving 
poor.” Summers here suggested how sometimes 
in the heart of the slums there is found a child 
that seems to be of a superior mould ; and thought 
this weeding out requires great care and intelli¬ 
gent insight, which makes personal service of ex¬ 
perts almost a necessity, lest the good sprout be 
pulled up in the weeding process. There is some¬ 
times in the same family one who seems different 
from all the rest,—an oak among the weeds,— 
bright, vigorous, superior. It is interesting, this 
study of men. 

“This,” thundered Impey, “opens out an in¬ 
teresting subject awful in its truth, growing out 
of the low moral standard of society. It is simply 
70 


the introduction of new seed and blood; and 
when^ many of the so-called upper classes 
will think a moment, they will see that in work¬ 
ing for the good of the children of the slums, 
they are at random only caring for their own flesh 
and blood. The thought is a terrible one I know, 
but the facts must be faced. To me, the duty 
ringing in our ears is not to trace in ingenious and 
finely spun theological phrases, the pedigree of the 
Son of God, but to inquire concerning this son of 
man. Whose son is he, this child in your mission 
school; whose son is he, this waif on the street;' 
whose son is he, this child in the asylum; whose 
son is he, this child advertised for adoption; 
whose son is he, this child receiving a man’s 
caresses and a mother’s smiles ? These are ques¬ 
tions terrible to enter upon, but this social regen¬ 
eration demands that they be faced ; and we can¬ 
not evade them.” 

The bishop did not even hear this, being ab¬ 
sorbed in his second dish of dessert. When he had 
finished, one of the brothers suggested that they 
look at the efforts of the little architect in solving 
this question of planting the deserving poor on 
good ground, and giving humanity a chance to 
grow. The plans' of the tenements were under 
way, and Enid spread them out on the high desk 
7i 


for the criticism and suggestions of the com¬ 
pany. 

“I hear,” said Enid, after having given little 
explanations of the details, “ that Esther Airy is 
to take 422 S. Front Street. She has been engaged 
for only a short time, but will be married soon, 
and she insists that it must be in the old home-, 
stead where she proposes to live. It created a little 
storm in the family; her mother especially was 
mortified at this freak, as she termed it; but little 
Esther was firm, and has outvveathered the storm, 
it is a fine old place, built in 1798, with all the 
old time spacious arrangements of halls and rooms, 
and solid mahogany doors. And such carved 
work ! It puts your weak imitations of the antique 
far into the shade. Esther will be quite an ac¬ 
quisition to our neighborhood, she is a wide¬ 
awake, noble-spirited girl, and takes a great in¬ 
terest in seamen, and has collected quite a little 
library on subjects relating to the sea and navi¬ 
gation. This house they say has for a long 
time been a stopping place for sailqrs, and she pro¬ 
poses building a special hotel for them, and so 
she will really not be crowding out anybody.” 

72 


CHAPTER VIII. 


Earth to Earth. 


How long will a man lie i’ the earth ere he rot ? 

Faith, if he be npt rotten before he die, he will last you some-eight 
year or nine year : a tanner will last you nine year.” 

— Shakespeare. 


A procession stately and decorous ; ceremonies 
proper and imposing; words, words, words; an 
absence of the sorrowing poor ; a grave not wide, 
not deep—the burial of a bishop. 


CHAPTER IX. 

An Election that Was Also a Choice. 


The gods to their dear shelter take thee 
, That justly think’st, and hast most rightly said ! 

And your large speeches may your deeds approve. 

—Shakespea re. 

There was no immediate shock, but the shock 
came a few days afterwards when the question was 
passed, “ Whom shall we have now; who shall be 
our bishop ? ” 

Presentiments of a social revolution were in the 
73 


air, and as the question of leadership was passed 
along, the excitement grew in intensity. Before 
the clergy met for the usual action in a regular 
way, there had been the spontaneous throbbing of 
the heart of the people. It was an informal meet¬ 
ing. 

The scene was one long to be remembered. 
Wealth, culture, refinement were evidenced all 
around, but here and there was also an isolated ig¬ 
norant negro, a lone Chinaman, a laborer with 
horny hands, attesting to the coming dawn of a 
real catholicity and brotherhood. The voice of 
the people was heard. 

First, the mistakes to be avoided, the man not 
to be chosen. 

One man arose and said, “I know a prelate who 
is a timeserver.” 

“Let us profit by the shameful spectacle,” in¬ 
terjected some one. 

Another added, “ Yes, and is ostentatious.” 

Then followed in rapid succession the free 
speech of the assembly. 

“ I know one who is cruel.” 

“ I know one who is mercenary.” 

“ I know one who is lazy.” 

“ And I one who is not well read.” 

“I know one who slandered his clergy offi¬ 
cially.” 


74 


“I know one who worshipped policy asagod.” 

“ I know one who never laughed.” 

“ I one who affected wisdom in his pose.” 

“ I know one who loves money.” 

“ I know one who despised the poor.” 

“ And I one who loved the rich-.” 

“ I know one who always went with the major¬ 
ity.” 

“ I know one who robbed, legally .” 

“ I know one who tried to coerce thinkers.” 

“Stop, kind friends,” interposed a venerable 
man with bushy eyebrows and flowing beard ; 
“let this not go further; let us seek after the 
things which make for peace.” 

“ No ! no ! let 11s have free speech ; let in the 
air, and if necessary, the storm. Ventilation ! 
Ventilation ! ” 

“ Let us .proceed to the election.” 

“ If these things can truthfully be said, were it 
not better to go without a bishop at all,” suggested 
some one. 

“That were heresy,” interposed the venerable 
man. 

Then the voices continued. 

“ We want a manly man.” 

“ None for political purposes.” 

“ The days of factions are gone by.” 

“The new age demands a Nazarene.” 

75 


“ A Nazarene must not belie his calling.” 

“ The Nazarene did not live in a palace.” 

“ He had an ideal beyond the comprehension 
of the majority.” 

“We want the greatest of the great.” 

“ Then look for one who can lace shoes.” 

“ But in doing so he must not crawl.” 

“ He must keep abreast with the age.” 

“ Then he must be young.” 

“ He must encourage activity.” 

“Then his mind must be broad.” 

“ He must not follow, but lead.” 

“ He must hate shams.” 

“ He must love little children.” 

“ If he worships God, he must also serve man.” 
“ He must appreciate the greatness of failure.” 
“ One who can refuse dinners.” 

“ He must be a friend of sinners.” 

“His brightness ought not be considered a dis¬ 
qualification.” 

And so speech ran long and freely. The voice 
of the people was heard. The election took place, 
and it was withal the people’s choice. The lot 
fell upon Ai. 


76 


CHAPTER X. 


The Modern Crown of Thorns. 


No falser idol man has bowed before, 

In Indian groves or islands of the sea, 

Than that which through the quaint carved Gothic door 
Looks forth,—a Church without humanity ! 

Patron of pride, and prejudice, and wrong,— 

The rich man’s charm and fetish of the strong. 

Whittier. 


The committee who waited upon Ai to inform 
him of his election, found him on a rug before 
an open fire, reading to a group of boys, one of 
the stories of Hans Christian Andersen. He 
bade them be seated, but continued, and the com¬ 
mittee became quite interested themselves; and 
after he had finished the story, he began another. 
At this juncture the committee became a little 
nervous and the chairman broached the object 
of the visit. Ai had not h v eard of an election ; 
had not even known that the bishop had died. 
There were the usual congratulations ; but Ai was 
lost in thought and could not be aroused to any 
degree of enthusiasm. He stared into the fire for 
a longtime, and then dismissed his boys, and re¬ 
turned to the committee. And the arrangements 

77 


for the consecration must be made at once. They 
had resolved to make it an imposing spectacle, 
something that would impress the world with the 
dignity and grandeur of the Church. It should 
take place at St. Mark’s and no expense should 
be spared; the Church was making inroads into 
the hearts of the whole people, and there was 
coming in the near future, the day when she 
should include all sorts and conditions of men. 
A very wealthy gentleman of the committee in¬ 
sisted that no expense should be spared, even if he 
himself must bear the bulk of it. The ceremony 
must impress the world by its magnificence ; there 
must be nothing mean about it. There never had 
been such unanimity in a choice; never such en¬ 
thusiasm. Ai had long lived in the hearts of the 
people, and now something must be done to be¬ 
fit the event. 

Ai listened to it all in absolute silence. He 
stirred the embers of the fire and put on more 
wood, and then asked when it was to be. As 
soon as the jewels could be ordered. Two men 
had resolved to bear all that part of the expense. 
Of course Ai would have his Shepherd’s crook 
as befits the shepherd. It would be jeweled. 

“ Make them diamonds,” added Ai. 

This rather surprised the committee, who ex¬ 
pected difficulties in the way; but this was an 
78 


encouraging sign. They had expected from this 
plain man opposition on the score of ceremony; 
but now he was actually insisting upon diamonds. 
“And you will have your mitre; we will have 
one specially made after a pattern of one of the 
old Coptic bishops.” 

“Diamonds there would add to its beauty,” 
Ai added again. The rich committeeman rubbed 
his hands with delight; there would be no fool¬ 
ish affectations of plainness, no meanness and un¬ 
worthy parsimony. 

“You will also have your pectoral cross.” 
“Make it large, and let that also be set with 
diamonds,” added Ai. 

This was becoming exceedingly interesting to 
the committee. 

“And let the diamonds be many and small,” 
he suggested. 

“And the ring will be a special gift from a 
recent convert to the faith.” 

“ See that it is set with diamonds also; small and 
numerous would suit me best.” 

The committee were progressing satisfactorily 
and had achieved their ends. Here was a man 
who rose to the dignity of the occasion. Ai 
lighted a taper which stood in a tall brass candle¬ 
stick, and the glow lighted up the further end 
of the room. It was poorly furnished with the 
79 


cheapest of wooden chairs, and an unpainted pine 
table; this with the rugs, of which there was a 
marked profusion, constituted about all of the 
furniture, except an abundance of books. 

Here was the people’s choice, living in almost 
abject poverty, giving orders for diamonds and 
costly pageantry, on his call to officially represent 
the Nazarene. 

“But you have forgotten, 5 ’ said Ai, as the 
committee were taking their departure, “ that I 
am a layman; I have never assumed the priestly 
office, have not even been recognized as a deacon 
or one occupying the lowest place.” This was 
rather a surprise to all, and they went back 
again. 

“ But have you not been recognized by the peo¬ 
ple as their priest? Have you not passed for 
such ? ” 

“There has been established between us a 
close bond of love, but it has been one only of 
brotherhood. What the poor people have thought 
I know not; but I have never sought to appear 
anything else than their friend and leader. ” 

Here a thoughtful man among the number said 
quietly, almost in a whisper, “Then you have 
been a leader indeed, for you were to them as a 
priest.” ' 

“That is the only priesthood, which has its 
80 


basis in brotherhood,” added another. To this 
one of the number was about to reply, but he 
hesitated as if he did not quite understand the 
drift of it, and so the matter was dropped. 

A few days afterwards Ai was ordained deacon. 
This man who had served his fellows, and the 
poor especially, for years, was now a deacon. 
Next day he was made a priest. This man who 
had for years lived in the hearts of the poor, and 
been to them as a priest, was now a priest. He 
went through it all in almost absolute silence, and 
seemed to be dazed. The day following had been 
appointed for his consecration to the bishopric. He 
had left to others every detail of arrangement. 
He told them he would not be thereuntil the latest 
moment, but would not keep them waiting; they 
should not keep him waiting when he got there. 
When he arrived, the 'Church was crowded with a 
mixed congregation ; he had given away all his 
tickets to the poor of his neighborhood. This 
indicated volumes to the dainty women who found 
their nurses and servants in their pews; they 
sniffed something in the air. A new order of 
things was about to begin. The choir had been 
greatly augmented, and was standing ready for 
the processional hymn. There were twelve or 
thirteen bishops and a score of clergymen in line, 
and a goodly number of the clergy were distributed 
6 81 


through the congregation. The processional cross 
was in place; the shepherd’s crook studded with 
brilliant diamonds was carried by a boy. Ai was 
vested by a committee, to whom he mechanically 
submitted without saying a word. A purple cas¬ 
sock was given him, which he put on. Some one 
then girded him with a silver cord, the ends of 
which were studded with diamonds. A boy car¬ 
ried his mitre, also studded with diamonds. A 
pectoral cross was suspended from his neck ; this 
too, was covered with diamonds. The tones of 
the organ never sounded more mellow and the 
music of the choir never was richer. The pro¬ 
cession made the circuit of the Church several 
times and then marched slowly up the nave to the 
chancel. The service was stately, and protracted 
with anthems and rich music. The sermon was 
the one usual to such occasions. 

Ai listened and sat through it all thinking of 
these present times; and looking along the line 
forward into the long dim future, he wondered 
whether apostles would be raised up to deal with 
these tremendous issues lying around us, here, 
now, and to come. The church seemed close and 
the place seemed to stifle him. Never was there 
such a crowd, never such eager faces as they leaned 
forward to catch a glimpse of the little bishop now 
vested in all his robes and apostolic belongings. 

82 


Ai went through it all without betraying any sign 
of interest. He seemed as if sitting alone with his 
thoughts. What meant all this pageantry; was it 
indeed the escort furnished to the apostle pressing 
forward in duty’s path, even if it led to bonds or 
to the cross itself? And how many would keep 
him company on the way, when persecution and 
evil days appeared ? How many would be willing 
to go on to victory, and willing also to press for¬ 
ward in the face of defeat ? What meant these 
jewels to one who was to serve in the place of 
the pauper Nazarene, who went about from place 
to place seeking for a pillow, not as rich as the 
birds that had gone to sleep in their own little 
nests ? What meant this sign of the cross on the 
breast of one, who if he trod convention’s path, 
where he was surely expected to walk, would 
know only the rich man’s feast, the lap of lux¬ 
ury, and all the delights and comfortable things 
in life? What meant all these gorgeous robes 
and the many changes, to him who joined arm 
in arm the poor reformer, and practiced with him 
sweet charity in giving away the cloak and would 
not withhold the coat either? What meant all 
this applause to one who had joined hands as 
with a brother, one who was meek and lowly in 
heart? And what these congratulations to him 

83 




who was to follow on in troublous paths and 
shameful betrayals ? 

These thoughts made him listless and absent- 
minded, and he had to be reminded of the next 
part in the ceremony. 

The church seemed to grow closer and the at¬ 
mosphere more stifling. 

One thing Ai had requested—that the choir 
should escort him to the little cathedral on Min¬ 
ster Street. 

When all the rites had been performed, all the 
ceremonies had been gone through, when the 
hymns had died out, and prayers had ceased, the 
little bishop mounted the steps of the high altar 
and gave notice of the procession to the cathedral. 
“This ends the ceremony ,” said he, “and now 
will begin the service. The consecration must go 
on until evening , and to-morrow , and through the 
year , and the life of years .” 

As the choir proceeded out of the church the 
congregation flowed into the street, and many fol¬ 
lowed the procession toward the cathedral. Pious 
women, faithful in attendance upon ordinances, 
searched in books, to see where this service could 
be read that was to go on until evening and to¬ 
morrow and a year and a life of years. Onward 
the choir led the way through many narrow streets 
of the poor, and dainty feet grew tired and turned 
84 


back. But onward the processional cross continued 
to move through the lanes, still narrower and more 
unsightly, and there turned back a number more* 
And still the escort led the bishop on through ways 
and by-ways of evil report, which still more de¬ 
pleted the ranks as they moved on. As they turned 
into the little street of the cathedral there were but 
a few besides the faithful choir. Among the fol¬ 
lowers Ai noticed a solitary priest, young and 
strong in frame but with lines across his fine fore¬ 
head ; his eye was sad and his abundant hair al¬ 
ready mixed with gray. As they passed up the 
street the magdalens of the neighborhood came 
out in numbers, and one said, “I know one good 
man.” 

In the cathedral were gathered the poor people, 
mostly children, whom Ai had known for years; 
and now he preached to them a sermon, the first 
sermon he ever preached. The sermon was not 
long and the bishop pronounced a formal blessing. 
The bishop’s first blessing was upon the poor, and 
they were mostly little children. 

85 


CHAPTER XI. 


The Real Consecration. 


Iam a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes, hath not a Jew hands, organs, 
dimensions, senses, affections, passions? Fed by the same food, hurt 
with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the 
same means, warmed and cooked by the same winter and summer, as 
a Christian is ^ —Shakespeare, 


As Ai withdrew from the church and was about 
to close the door behind him, he felt a gentle push, 
and a man with fine Jewish features bowed and en¬ 
tered. 

“O, Mr. Shoenstein, I believe: come in, I have 
been expecting you ; and if you will excuse me 
until I disrobe, I will be glad to see you.” 

The man adjusted his glasses, and reaching up 
to Ai’s mitre, took hold of it with his two hands; 
and looking carefully over its decorations, excit¬ 
edly inquired, “ Ish dot a real diamond?” and 
then looked a little closer. Ai adjusted the heavy 
headgear, which was awry, and as he raised his 
hand, Shoenstein caught it, and turning it so as to 
get a better look at the ring, exclaimed, “ Dot ish a 
real one, and a real beauty too. And let me see 
dot,”—relieving him of his pastoral staff. 

The gems of the crook were carefully looked 
86 


over, and every diamond critically valued and 
measured, as he turned the ornament over and over 
again. During this examination, Ai had disrobed 
and returned to his visitor in a new purple cassock 
with silver cord, the ends being ornamented with 
pomegranates studded with diamonds. These did 
not escape the eyes of the jeweller, and he had 
their value estimated in an instant. 

“ You will excuse me for keeping you waiting, 
but I sent for you, Mr. Shoenstein, to have your 
opinion and services with regard to these very dia¬ 
monds.” 

“Yes, dot ish right,” interjected the interested 
man. 

“I would like,” continued Ai, “ to have some 
responsible person take out these stones from their 
settings ; and as they require careful handling, I 
would like your firm to do the work. I need 
money and may want to realize upon them, and I 
would like to entrust their sale to yourself.” 

“Yes, dot ish right.” 

“I saw you in the church, Mr. Shoenstein. I 
did not mean to do violence to any religious pref¬ 
erences which men may have ; what I meant was 
that you might meet me here in the house imme¬ 
diately after the ceremony, without going into 
the church itself.” 

“ O, dot ish all right, Mr. Ai, or Bishops, as dey 
87 


now calls you ; we must do much tings in business, 
and I am liberals, too.” 

“ Where do you attend synagogue ? For I sup¬ 
pose you go.” 

“ O yes, we haf a fine new synagogue; I goes 
to Kene^eth Israel.” 

“Ah, to Keneseth Israel! You have a very 
able rabbi there; I met him one day.” 

“Very, very; he is very liberals, and he lofs 
humanity.” 

“Yes, I understand he is very progressive.” 

“ He ish a fine gentlemans, and we raised his 
salary. ’ ’ 

“ But, Mr. Shoenstein, you see the diamonds, 
and you know their value ; now do you suppose I 
can realize five hundred dollars upon this one? ” 

“Yes, more dan dot. I can turn over to you 
fife hundred dollars and keep my ten per cent.” 

“And this, what value do you place upon this? 
It seems to be a fine one.” 

“ Dot ish a genuine Sout Africaner; it ish 
small, but it ish also wort fife hundred dollars, if 
a cent.” 

“Well, that pleases me, Mr. Shoenstein.” 

“ Dey are all goot; some better dan some, but 
all goot; you haf a regufar gold mine, or a dia¬ 
mond mine, I should say.” 

“You see, Mr. Shoenstein, there are many poor 
88 


people around here, and I need a few schools and 
a Kindergarten ; also a hospital for children, and 
a great many other things that will cost money. I 
now propose to sell these diamonds, and build.” 

The jeweller looked at the bishop and rubbed 
his hands excitedly. 

“You sell your clothes and build for de chil¬ 
drens, did you say ? ” 

“No, not my clothes, but these things that are 
not clothes—the diamonds.” 

“ And you gifs dese to de poor; you takes dese 
stones from your fingers and gifs to de poor ? Dot 
ish just what our rabbi says; and now I meets a 
man, a real man, who does it. Dot ish right. 
Dey says de little childrens suffers very much in 
de hot wetter.” 

“ Yes, I propose to have you sell that stone, and 
it will keep a little boat running a whole week 
on the river; and just think how many little 
ones will breathe the fresh air, which perhaps 
will save their lives. You know the physicians 
always recommend a change of air rather than 
medicine.” 

“ I lost a little boy once; and dey suffers so 
much, de childrens.” During a long pause both 
were silent. The Jew then resumed: “And 
you will send de childrens on de river. I will 
89 


help you; I will sell de diamonds and will not 
charge de ten per cent.” 

“That will be a real practical service, which 
will pay for a whole boat-load down the river; 
and I hope, Mr. Shoenstein, that you yourself 
may be with us that day ; take a vacation and 
come.” 

“I will, so help me—dot is, if I can get off 
from business.” 

“ Dey told me, (you will excuse me, Bishops), 
dey told me dot you sold your shirt to gif away to 
de poor; and 1 4 went to de meeting to see wetter 
dey would make such a man a bishops. De 
times want leaders who will practice kindness and 
justice to all.” 

“ I am afraid your informer was too enthusiastic 
an admirer. It is not necessary, Mr. Shoenstein, 
to sell one’s shirt. There may be extreme cases, 
but only because some one is not willing to sell his 
diamonds. I believe in a shirt and undershirt 
and plenty of changes. I believe in good warm 
clothing in winter, and good, cool, seasonable 
clothing in summer ; but if all are to have them, 
there may be times when one must part with his 
extra shirt, but only, as I said, because some one 
else is not willing to part with his diamonds.” 

“I see,” interjected Shoenstein, “ dot luxuries 
90 


makes de inequalities in de worlt; you mean 
dot.” 

“That is about it. And besides, a man like 
myself must be consistent. You would laugh at a 
follower of the Nazarene parading in diamonds.” 

“ De Nazarene himself, dey tells, did not do so; 
but you know I do not agree mit you as to de 
character of de Christ.” 

“Well, no matter; assuming he was a man, 
history tells us he was not ostentatious and en¬ 
dowed with luxuries.” 

“ Yes, he was a frient of de poor; and so far I 
respect de man, if he did lif.” 

“ And now, to really follow him, we must have 
the same spirit; but I do not see how diamonds on 
the shepherd’s crook are going to help the starv¬ 
ing flock, or how a jewelled finger is going to 
give fresh air and clean clothes to unfortunate 
children.” 

“ Dot ish right, very right.” 

“ These stones were given to me by earnest 
men and women as offerings to God. I now 
make them such. I am their servant, and do 
what these people really intended to do, but which 
they perhaps indifferently comprehended. It is a 
poor conception of God, to have Him pleased 
with sparkle and glitter, to have him pacified and 
brought around by a gift that shines, as if he were 
9 1 


a wilful child. God has too many flowers blush¬ 
ing unseen, too many twinkling stars still undis¬ 
covered, to desire a few shining diamonds for his 
pleasure and delight. No, when God sees us will¬ 
ing to do His will, then is he well pleased, and 
when in the doing of that will, it requires these 
diamonds, and we are ready to give them, then 
only are they pleasing. But if they should halt 
half way and not become effective in good works, 
they would little serve as a true offering. They 
have come half way. I recognize the spirit in 
which they were given. I believe the vision of 
the donors a little beclouded, but that is all the 
greater reason why I should be eyes to these good 
people, and see for them the path. They will 
now bring health to the cheeks of little children ; 
food, clothing, and intellectual vision; and in 
such acts will the will of God be done ; and that 
will be the sacrifice that will please.” 

“And you gif away all de diamonds on de 
ring, on de mitre and on de staff? ” 

“Yes, and these too,” pointing to the pome¬ 
granates; “besides, these in the cross; and I 
want you to affix a pedestal to this cross, so that 1 
can fit it to a base of wood. It may serve as a 
daily'reminder of what one must expect and come 
to in this our service; for the cross will come 
sooner or later, the world’s ingratitude will most 
9 2 


surely come to him who seeks its betterment. The 
world is putting upon the cross its saviours every 
day.” 

“So you tink dot one saviour upon a cross 
was not sufficient; but dot many more haf been 
put on, and many more will be sacrificed before 
de worlt will be safed ? ” 

“ It does seem so in looking around us ; the facts 
seem to point that way; but, Mr. Shoenstein, we 
will not enter upon any theological discussion, 
though the hard facts of life and history are well 
worth our consideration.” 

The Jew smiled. His private opinion was that 
these followers of Jesus caricatured the man in 
their daily practice; and he enjoyed an inward 
satisfaction when he heard this bishop openly 
saying the very things which he had often thought; 
and there was a feeling of close fellowship grow¬ 
ing between these two men. 

“These, you see, are all small. I had them 
ordered small and more of them, as I thought they 
could be disposed of more readily than a larger 
stone. You will know their value and make the 
best possible sale when I bring them to you. I 
want you to take this one with you; I need 
money at once for a kindergarten ; and the others I 
will put into a deposit vault until they are 
wanted.” 


93 


“I guarantee it will sell for fife hundred dollars, 
if a cent; it is a beauty. I will charge you not- 
tings and will manage to go mit de sick childrens.” 

“I hope, Mr. Shoenstein, you may often come 
and see the schools. You see we hope to have a 
number of institutions, day nurseries and kinder¬ 
gartens, as soon as the stone is sold.” 

Then recollecting himself, Shoenstein took out 
his purse. 

“You spoke of de poor; dey are sick all de 
year, not only next summer ; here is a little which 
you can use for any sick little one. My poor lit¬ 
tle boy died in de winter, and all winter dare is 
suffering as well as in de summer; he was a fine 
boy too—my little Jacob. I will go mit de chil¬ 
drens myself next summer; I will leaf business and 
go myself.” 

As the jeweller passed out, a few boys looked in 
and asked whether they could not do something, 
carry wood or something. Ai asked them in, and 
said he had all he wanted; so the boys did not 
go in. 

Thus, after the ceremony in the large and 
beautiful Church, was here commenced, in that 
secluded room in the miserable street, a service of 
consecration ; and there was assisting in this serv¬ 
ice a Jew, with his goodwill and means, and bet¬ 
ter than that—his personal service. The little 
94 


gamins, from the street also made their contribu¬ 
tion of goodwill. Thus virtue was becoming con¬ 
tagious. This man was fast becoming the bishop 
of the whole people. 


CHAPTER XII. 

Was It All a Dream. 

The hireling fleeth, because he is a hireling, and careth not for the 
sheep.— Jesus. 

The formal calls upon the new bishop began. 
The first ring of the bell was not answered ; Ai 
slept little after the fatigue of the day, and when 
he did fall into a doze toward morning, his sleep 
was fitful and disturbed. It was midday before 
he arose. As he was still taking his bath, the 
bell rang, and a gentleman was let in by an ar¬ 
rangement connected with Ai’s sleeping room, 
which was operated by an electric device of 
Burr’s. 

He found this convenient on cold days, both 
for himself and his visitor. The device, however, 
was afterward altered, and everyone was expected 
to walk in without ringing; a little bell an¬ 
nounced the visitor, as at the corner grocery. 
“They come here for bread, too; and a bishop 
ought to see them as gladly,” he used to say. 

95 


His caller, a Mr. Richmond, was a wealthy 
gentleman and a vestryman of one of the churches. 
He cordially extended both his hands as Ai en¬ 
tered the room, robed in his superb purple cas¬ 
sock, which was a trifle too long. “A bishop 
ought not drag his purple in the dust,” he said 
to his visitor, with a twinkle in his eye. 

“You look tired; you must have your break¬ 
fast at once. Shall I not send out and have 
something brought in? You are ill.” 

“I have had a bad night; only caught a little 
sleep toward morning : had bad dreams,—horri¬ 
ble dreams,—horrible.” 

“ Surely your conscience is a good one,” pleas¬ 
antly interposed the vestryman. 

“ No, that is just it; I try not to have an easy 
conscience, and it troubles me occasionally; and 
such a night as I had. My duties began after the 
ceremony, and have been going on ever since. I 
was at it all night. Duty goes on forever, the 
consecration is the work of a lifetime.” He then 
arranged the wood and lighted the fire and then 
sat down to talk., “ I had a singular dream,” he 
said, “and it has taken the life out of me; I 
feel as if I had been tramping all night; I am 
tired.” 

“You look it.” 

“ I dreamed that the old colonial church— 
96 


Christ Church—was being taken down piecemeal 
and carried off. They had arranged to take it 
down, brick by brick, numbering every piece care¬ 
fully, and then proposed erecting it somewhere 
west, where they said the congregation had gone. 

“ Experts had been engaged to preserve carefully 
every part of the fabric, and to replace the build¬ 
ing in exactly the same condition as before; and 
the demolishing of the wall surrounding the church 
had already commenced when I found out their 
plans. I thought they were piling a load of bricks 
on my chest, and then they covered me entirely, 
and were stifling me. The thought was a horrible 
one, but I finally awoke. I soon fell asleep again ; 
and then found myself rushing along the streets, 
looking for the vestry. I went to several houses 
on Walnut Street, and asked them to meet me; 
several lived in West Philadelphia, and I saw 
them; one lived at Chestnut Hill, and I walked 
out there, as there was no railroad that I knew of; 
another lived at Germantown, and I ran to his 
house; one had gone to Europe, him I did not 
see; another was in the country, and was hunted 
up. I found them all but one. I was so exhausted 
after my tramp that I got on board a canal boat on 
my way home. This was slow progress, and caused 
me great uneasiness, but we finally got together 
just as it was getting dark. The vestry maintained 
7 97 


that it was purely a matter of business ; the con¬ 
gregation had moved west and become scattered, 
and pew-rents were falling off. They said churches 
must be conducted on business principles ; and it 
was their duty to keep up the pew-rents to a proper 
monetary standard. It was purely a matter of 
business. I then took the vestry out for a walk. 
We started up Second Street, and passed forty-seven 
boys and twenty-three girls, sitting in dark door¬ 
ways. Turning down Vine Street, we saw groups 
of men and women lounging around, wanting 
something to interest their miserable selves. We 
entered a little court off Race Street, and saw a 
fight between a drunken husband and his little 
clean wife, whom he cowed into the most abject 
servility. In a court without name, but called 
Bull’s Run, on account of the filth and running 
sewerage on the pavement, we saw two fights. As 
we passed through Front Street, there was a poor 
woman crouching into a corner with a baby under 
her shawl, preparing to go to sleep. Farther on 
we saw a group of young girls dancing under an 
awning to the music of an accordeon, the little 
Italian musician sitting on a bale of merchandise. 

“ The odors from the business houses were hor¬ 
rible. Hams, hides, ropes, paint, wool, rags, 
oils, cabbage, potatoes, fruits, and green groceries 
in every stage of decay,—food, food everywhere, 
98 


but the pinched children did not seem to have 
much of it. From its odors, however, they ft 
could not escape. Hundreds of houses packed 
with tenants; little streets, back of the business 
houses where fortunes are made, were lined with 
houses in every condition of disrepair. There 
were courts within courts, all overrun with human 
beings. 

“ Then we went through a number of other 
streets, west of Second street, with the same re¬ 
sult, finding court within court, all packed with 
human beings, drinking and making merry, drown¬ 
ing their sorrows in such excitements as their nar¬ 
row visions could command. 

“We then returned and knelt down in the dark 
silent Church, lighted only by the street lamp 
shining through the large stained chancel window. 
Here was the fold, but where were the sheep ? 
There was no question about the devouring wolves. 
They were abroad in all their rapacious fierceness. 
They were gnawing down to the bone—men, wo¬ 
men, and children falling as prey. And then as 
we prayed for light to meet the duties of the times, 

I thought we all swooned and lay scattered around 
the altar steps—how long, I know not. When I 
recovered, I found myself standing in the pulpit, 
and there was a sound as of great and deep 
waters ; these were rushing through the Church ; 
99 


and in the waves the heads of the vestrymen ap¬ 
peared, but soon all were lost in a great sea of 
heads which surged, but when they became quiet, 
I noticed they were people who had filled the 
Church. They filled every pew, they filled the 
galleries, they stood in the aisles, they sat on the 
altar steps, they crowded around the pulpit and 
sat on the pulpit stairs, they crowded into the pul¬ 
pit itself, and stood outside the Church, crowded 
the windows and doors ; so the windows were 
opened that they might hear. I then began *to 
preach, but they stopped me and said they had 
heard that before. They knew their duty but 
they lacked resolution to follow the dictates of con¬ 
science. They had the knowledge, but they lacked 
the will. They were hopeful, some said, since now 
they had found leadership in their efforts to will 
the right. They had not only direction, but they 
had company. They had not only instruction, 
but they had sympathy. 

“‘You came to my home,’ one said; another 
said, ‘You looked upon my little one.’ And then 
other voices were heard to say, ‘ You saw my 
sick husband; ’ ‘You know now how rum robs 
us;’ ‘You saw the temptations of my girls;’ 

‘ You saw how widows struggle for bread ; ’ ‘ You 
saw how we must sleep. ’ And so the voices ran. 
ioo 


I was dumb, standing in the high pulpit, while the 
congregation was preaching to me . 

“Then the heads of the vestrymen rose above the 
heads of the others, and the congregation shouted : 

‘ These are your helpers ’—‘ They will hold up 
your hands in your endeavors ’—‘ They will help 
us to will and to do *—‘ They have joined hands 
with you and with us, and we be brethren.’ Then 
the church enlarged, the walls spreading so that 
those outside were included ; but more were com¬ 
ing and still the church enlarged. Then there 
was a flash of light; and the whole was illumin¬ 
ated with numberless tapers in the hands of the 
congregation. ‘ We want light, more light,’ they 
said—‘ Each can bring his little light ’—‘ Every 
light will be missed ’—* He who will not bring his 
light will come and go in darkness.’ And then 
the organ began to play, and the trumpet pipes 
were heard, and the chimes in the steeple rang out 
merrily. Then as mysteriously as they came, the 
congregation melted out of sight again; each car¬ 
rying a taper, they slowly went away into the 
street and courts around. 

“ The vestrymen alone remained. 4 Where is our 
congregation ? ’ one asked. Someone replied, 
‘In the streets; in the narrow lanes; in the 
courts; in the close rooms; in the damp cellars; 
in the stifling atmosphere.’ ‘Yes, there,’ said 

IOI 


another. * I saw where they lived,’ said a third. 

‘ They are within a stone’s throw,’ added a fourth 
‘ They can easily be reached,’ said a fifth. ‘ They 
are quite near,’ broke forth a sixth. * But they 
must be sympathized with,’ interjected a seventh. 
‘And we must do the sympathizing,’ added the 
eighth. ‘I personally must do this sympathizing,’ 
continued a ninth. ‘ We must not look for 
monetary results,’ exclaimed the tenth. ‘ This 
church shall remain ,’ thundered the eleventh. 
This made light my heart and I awoke.” 

As the bishop related his dream, Mr. Richmond 
stared vacantly into the fire; he then grasped the 
bishop’s hand and pressed it warmly without say¬ 
ing a word. 

“ I am completely used up ; that walk to West 
Philadelphia and to Chestnut Hill has taken the 
strength out of me.” . 

Mr. Richmond again suggested sending for his 
breakfast, but the bishop declined. ■“ But strange 
to say,” continued Ai, “I fell asleep and dreamed 
again. I saw the church moving west and halt¬ 
ing between the Church of the Mediator, and 
Christ Church Chapel. These churches flanked 
the great building, touching the corners, and they 
made an imposing group. So close were they, 
that it seemed like war between them when the 
choir-masters did their full duty. I thought I fol- 
102 


lowed the church as it floated steadily westward. 
I was curious to know why one little spot should 
receive this remarkable attention; why one little 
corner in the vineyard should receive such zealous 
cultivation. What was all this shepherding for, 
—to feed the flock or to shear the wool ? ” 

Mr. Richmond suggested that they walk out and 
have something to eat. “ I really feel, Mr. Rich¬ 
mond, like walking up that way to assure myself 
that the plumbers are not even now melting ofl" the 
roof.” 


CHAPTER XIII. 
The Leaven at Work. 


Bear ye one another’s burdens.— Si. Paul. 


The Burrs had finished their quiet cup of tea 
without company, which was an unusual thing, 
and the gentlemen had settled for a smoke and the 
magazines. 

There was quite a refreshing breeze through the 
arches of the veranda, which set the entangled 
vines, now blooming with flowers, waving to and 
fro. They had arranged the Chinese lanterns ready 
for lighting, and the whole was converted into a 
103 


fairy bovver, making the scene from the street a 
pretty one. 

Enid was opening her letters. She gathered 
from one of them that this matter of personal 
service was taking root, for there was quite a circle 
of girls who were to be married soon, and two thirds 
were going to take the houses in which their 
grandmothers had danced. Sue Horton, who was 
engaged last summer to that manly, handsome 
Purelonder, had arranged for the South-west Cor¬ 
ner of Front and Lombard, a fine old place, built 
of genuine colonial bricks. “ She is a great 
friend of Esther Airy’s, and they will be quite 
near neighbors. I think,” said Enid, “ that ser¬ 
mon of Ai’s did it, as I see evidences of it all 
around. Sue says it was a bold arraignment of 
the half-hearted ; and while it gave offense to a 
few, yet the young people were affected by it and 
were set thinking.” 

Ai had been asking for money for the fresh air 
fund, and incidental to the sermon, pictured, in 
his usual graphic way, the plates being handed up, 
piled with rich offerings, and running over. After 
this flattering picture, he raised his hand and held 
it for a long time; the suspense was painful, as he 
opened and closed it convulsively. He then low¬ 
ered it and -held fast to the sides of the pulpit and 
said calmly, in a low, soft voice, “ Yes, you have 
104 


given largely, but you have given only half; I now 
want yourselves, your personal service; when ac¬ 
companied by your service and labors of love, 
then only will your gifts become a true offering.” 
They found stains of blood where he had clasped 
the pulpit, the clenching of his hand had pressed 
the nails deep into the flesh. He then went on and 
told them of the many ways in which this personal 
service could be rendered, and of the great need 
of heart and sympathy in the world. There never 
was such a collection in St. Mark’s. The school 
girls went down deep into their purses and drained 
them of the last cent of pin-money. 

But the real fruit appeared afterward. A few 
girls who were home on a vacation organized and 
laid some plans by which to create a sentiment in 
favor of personal service. They separated and 
went to their respective schools, some to Wellesley, 
some to Swarthmore, others to Vassar. At school 
they gathered a few of a like mind, and organized 
for personal service. These efforts soon began 
bearing fruit. Out of a bevy of eight girls, seven 
were married, and six of them took houses in 
quarters tenanted by the poor. Enid ran over in 
her mind the facts, and said, “ One is going into 
514 Penn Street; another into 402 South Front 
Street; still another is going into 336 Spruce 
Street; and two sisters will take 46 and 48 Almond 

105 


Street, below Front, where they will have a river 
view. Our friend Dorothy will move into 820 
Swanson, a fine quaint old place; and her cousin 
has already renovated 520 South Front. Cecilia 
Horton has asked me to look at and draw plans to 
have 34 Catharine Street restored, just as it was when 
her great grandfather lived there. She is engaged 
to a noble fellow who has nursed a sick blind man, 
one of Ai’s poor. They say he is one of the gen¬ 
uine Knickerbocker stock, and would not go home 
during the University vacation, but asked Ai for 
work, and was directed to the garret of the old 
man. He watched at night at the bedside, to the 
great relief of the wornout family, and slept on 
Ai’s rugs during the day-time. 

“ He is a large, manly-looking fellow, takes the 
lead in rowing and never misses a ball when at the 
bat; but mention suffering to him, point out in¬ 
justice, give him a scent of meanness, and he be¬ 
comes as ferocious as a lion, and as tender as a girl. 
Cecilia has made a good choice, and she is worthy 
of the man, one of the truest girls I ever met.” 

“ I hear that the new bishop is gathering around 
him a strong force of workers,” said the merchant 
Burr, laying down his paper; “ not only in the 
work of the little Minster, but he seems to be in¬ 
fecting the churches with his enthusiasm for hu¬ 
manity. The whole vestry of the Nazarene is 
106 


composed now of young men. They are mostly 
University boys who were attracted by AiJ and 
think of looking into the matter of the other half. 
They naturally talked of the matter at home, and 
to the surprise of everybody, after the last Easter 
Election, the church found itself with an entirely 
new vestry, all but one old man whom they re¬ 
tained, as one playfully remarked, for ballast.” 

“ Ballast is a good thing, but when the ship be¬ 
comes loaded with ballast, it is not going to carry 
bread,” suggested the other Burr. 

“So the good old men reasoned, and elected 
their hopeful sons as their successors, gracefully 
admitting that a little fresh, new blood was a good 
thing. They however did not lose their heads, 
and so retained on the vestry a good load of bal¬ 
last to keep the enthusiasm of youth from turning 
the neighborhood topsy-turvy,—a courtly old man, 
a gentleman of the old school. The whole matter 
was characterized by the most perfect good humor 
and philosophical frankness. Such men one does 
not like to see go out—men who are so free to ad¬ 
mit the signs of the times.” 

Enid suggested that the sons no doubt had in¬ 
herited the wisdom of their sires, and this wisdom 
plus the enthusiasm of youth would make the old 
church a power again. 

In the afternoon of the same day, a little com- 
107 


pany had gathered at number 3 Chancery Lane by 
accident. It always appeared an accident until it 
happened so often and so regularly on about the 
same day of the month, that some brain was set 
thinking, and a law was discovered governing the 
matter. 

It has already been stated that Impey was an in¬ 
veterate reader, and kept abreast with all the lead¬ 
ing, stirring thought of the times. He read what 
was best in books, and devoured all that was 
printed in the Magazines and Reviews. This fact 
Mrs. Airy had carefully noted, and the fact of Im- 
pey’s communicativeness made the circumstance a 
very fortunate one for her. That bright woman 
always needed an invisible patch on her boot about 
the tenth day of the month. This of course her 
husband never found out of his own accord, but 
her lady acquaintances somehow discovered it. If 
on the ninth day the little boot was whole and 
sound, that little foot would catch between the 
planks of a bridge, trod by children with impunity; 
or some rough stone would make a visit to the shoe¬ 
maker a necessity. There was a good cobbler 
quite near her house, but she preferred to take a 
long walk and so went down to Impey. About 
the tenth day of the month Impey had become 
pretty well advanced with the contents of the 
Magazines, and the two things seemed to form a 
108 


most fortunate conjuncture. Mrs. Airy promptly 
appeared on the tenth, and Impey/ glad to talk 
when he had an attentive listener, was always 
pleased to see her. He had assimilated the fresh¬ 
est thought of the times and now was happy to 
deliver the results of his reading. 

A more delightful listener than Mrs. Airy could 
not be found. She was always dressed with the 
most exquisite taste, the material tending toward 
richness, but never gaudy. 

She had a pretty foot which Impey maintained 
was really remarkable, and which he suggested 
should not be spoilt by wearing shoes made over 
any common last of ordinary mould:; so she had 
a special last made at considerable expense, all 
delicately shaped and moulded like her foot, and 
she had the exclusive use of it. The ladies often 
wondered how Mrs. Airy kept that same pretty 
foot while she was losing ground otherwise. She 
had a bright eye that always seemed to catch 
Impey’s when he looked up from his vamp. 

She had had advantages as a girl, all that money 
could purchase. She made term time and kept it 
up until she became a bud ; even then she tried 
quietly to patch up the breaks of the past, but all 
to no purpose—she remained only bright and in¬ 
telligent. When a girl she lacked application. 
She would not study. She was afflicted with in- 
109 


tellectual laziness, and this left her often stranded 
when called upon to grapple with facts. She 
could talk brilliantly enough, too, at times, but it 
was all within a tiny narrow circle. She lacked 
wings. Her quickness and natural intelligence 
helped her out a great deal, but there were times 
when she could neither touch bottom nor float, 
and so was cast hopelessly upon the shore. Mrs. 
Airy was bright, and knew all this, and she saw 
her opportunity in Impey. So she stumped a 
hole regularly on the ninth day of the month and 
had it promptly mended on the tenth, while she 
waited. She always was pleased when several 
were ahead and the wait was a long one. Impey 
noticed she always wore an old pair, and wondered 
what become of the numerous new pairs she was 
constantly ordering. She said she had given them 
away, and found the old ones more comfortable. 
She did not mind patched ones, if not too patchy. 
This unselfishness touched Impey, and he thought 
her a good-hearted philanthropist. 

While Mrs. Airy was taking off her shoe on 
this particular day, the door opened, and Mrs. 
Amos came in. 

11 0 Mrs. Airy, I am glad to see you—Mr. 
Impey, you are hard at work as usual—always 
busy—I too am going to trouble you with a little 
break—my toe is coming out.” 

no 


As she was explaining how it occurred, the door 
opened and Mrs. Amos’s daughter came in. This 
rather surprised the mother, but the daughter was 
not one to be talked to under the circumstances. As 
they were moving their chairs, the door opened to 
admit Miss Ostander, a fine looking woman, hav¬ 
ing a positive air and a determined manner. She 
seemed to be well acquainted with Impey, but did 
not know the rest. She found a seat in a corner 
on the opposite side of the room, near the window, 
and soon was lost in the Reviews. 

“I suppose you all want your work done at 
once, while you wait,” Impey suggested. “I 
will do my best, but I never work after four 
o’clock ; that is a part of my creed.” Mrs. Airy 
said she was not in a hurry and would not mind 
letting anyone else take her turn first. Miss 
Ostander did not seem to care about any mending, 
being absorbed in the Popular Science Monthly. 
Soon the door opened again, and a breezy little 
lady appeared, all aglow, her cheeks bright as a 
peach. “O, you here, Mrs. Airy? and you, 
Mrs. Amos? and dear Miss Amos,—how delighted 
I am to see you. It seems we are all here. In¬ 
deed I had to have my shoes attended to, I am 
walking on my uppers. O, I did not see you, Miss 
Ostander, you kept so quiet. Well this is a meet¬ 
ing. Mr. Impey, you must be very busy; you 
hi 


must have a good deal of patience. Do you know, 
we think of asking you to deliver a lecture before 
the New Century ? It is all a secret yet. You 
must be very patient with us women ; our hus¬ 
bands, some of them at least, think us fussy. And 
here you have us all in a bunch.” 

Impey said he did not mind, but rather enjoyed 
company, and it never prevented him from work¬ 
ing—talk rather helped him—but he was sorry he 
could not attend to all the work at once. He said 
for ten days he had not had a single shoe to mend, 
not a drop of their refreshing presence, and now it 
poured. It seemed he always had luck toward 
the middle of the month, it was so last month and 
the month before. He had a regular flood of 
mending about the middle of the month. Mrs. 
Airy tried to look indifferent and made some pretty 
remarks about Impey’s gallant appreciation of their 
refreshing presence; the rest kept quiet and felt 
relieved by Mrs. Airy’s winning ways. 

“ That article on the confessions of a lawyer, 
in the Arena, is going to do good,” said Impey, 
as he hammered down a seam. 

“ We need such common frankness along the 
line. The injustices that are done every day in 
the name of the law, are going to raise an outcry 
some day, that will bring down the woman who 
is peeping through the bandage.” “ By the way,” 

I 12 


said Mrs. Airy, “ have you heard of Judge Rue’s 
resignation ? The unjust laws which he was bound 
to enforce proved too much for his nerves, he 
says, and he is going to the legislature as mis¬ 
sionary.” 

“By the way, Mrs. Airy, have you read the 
essay on the cruelties of sport?” She had not, 
but she had ordered all the monthlies, and the 
bundle had come, and would be opened in a day 
or two ; she had been very busy and she supposed 
there was a good deal that was interesting. 

She then adroitly drew Impey into the vortex, 
and in an hour she had all the titles of the articles 
that were really worth reading, carefully laid away 
in her excellent memory, and so felt happy. 

Her shoe was finished, but she did not leave; 
she would wait until her dear friend Mrs. Amos 
had had hers mended, and they would go to¬ 
gether. 

She then made a mental catalogue of all the im¬ 
portant articles and asked a question or two to 
make sure she had made no mistake. Then she 
made a remark, in an apparently indifferent way, 
concerning one of these very articles. This set 
Impey talking; and he mapped out the subject in 
bold outlines, to her inward satisfaction. She was 
content with the bare outline, and then switched 
him upon another track, an article in the North 

8 113 


American Review which was shaking the throne 
of the financial world. She put the gist of that 
also in a neat little bag and stored it away for a 
famine. Then she opposed Impey on a point in 
which she quite well agreed with him at heart. 
He put forth his best arguments on the tariff ques¬ 
tion ; and they were the same practically as con¬ 
tained in the Forum’s article; this little coinci¬ 
dence pleased the bright woman, who had only 
looked on the cover of the book, and she put 
the gist of the tariff article also away on a shelf of 
her brain. 

That very evening a few club friends of her 
husband were charmed with the brilliancy of this 
woman; she was informed on all that was alive 
and fresh ; she knew not only what was printed, 
but could give a digest of the salient points; she 
went right to the heart of the subject and seemed 
to give you the kernel without the rind or shell; 
she never burdened you with a detail of facts. 
But the many-sidedness of her reading was the 
wonder; she ranged over the whole field, and 
without treating anything specifically, gave you a 
bird’s eye view of it all. The men went away 
making a mental comparison between their wives 
and this woman. Their wives did not seem to 
read anything ; and yet they had as much time as 
this woman, who must be burning the midnight 
114 


oil to keep abreast with the thought of the 
times. 

While these gentlemen were being treated to 
this feast of reason, the little Airy boys were drag¬ 
ging around the nursery the unopened bundle of 
the monthlies, using it as a stage coach ; and 
when the package broke they cut out the pictures 
and pasted them on the wall. But it did not mat¬ 
ter ; it gave them pleasure, and mamma did not 
want them particularly. 

When Mrs. Amos had her shoe given her, she 
and Mrs. Airy left together, and thought they 
would stop at the Burrs’. Esther Airy had an ap¬ 
pointment with her mother and met them as they 
entered the street. 

They found the Burrs on the veranda, just light¬ 
ing the lanterns. Esther, a bright girl of about 
eighteen, wanted to report the result of her inves¬ 
tigation into a case which the Society for the 
Prevention of Cruelty to Children had in hand. 
Enid Burr was one of the managers. Miss Airy 
had been detailed to inquire into the cases of 
little girls who carried heavy loads of wood on 
their heads. She saw a bundle weighing about 
two hundred pounds, which a little girl, stunted 
in growth, tried to balance on her head. Two 
men came along and shifted the load, and after a 
few staggering steps the child walked off. This 


was repeated until the whole heap of refuse was 
carried off by several such little girls. 

“I followed the stunted little girls to their 
homes,” said Esther, “ and found them in a state 
of abject poverty. The father told me of his 
shamefully scanty wages. This roused me and I 
went to the contractor. The contractor said the 
contract was very low—the merchant of the ware¬ 
house would not give more for the job. He di¬ 
rected me to the merchant. Whom do you think 
I went to see? It was none other than my own, 
dear, good father, who was having a new ware¬ 
house erected for his increasing business. I talked 
to father, but he said it was a matter of business, 
and girls could not understand the laws that gov¬ 
ern business and trade. Now I may not under¬ 
stand trade; I know nothing about the tariff, but 
such as I hear from mamma ; but this one thing 
I do know,* that those stunted little creatures stag¬ 
gered under their loads,—one piece of rubbish 
was actually in the shape of a cross, and two men 
had some difficulty in getting it balanced on her 
head,—and that their skulls were flattened and al¬ 
most crushed by this awful pressure. Now look at 
this spectacle; it seemed as though she was go¬ 
ing to a crucifixion. What did I find ? The 
child was compelled by the parents; the father 
said his wages were low, he was oppressed by the 
116 


contractor; the contractor said he could not pay 
more because he was squeezed by the man who 
builds; and when I go along the line and trace 
the matter to its source, I find that my own dear 
father gets his work done at as cheap a rate 
as possible, plenty of contractors are willing to do 
it as cheaply, and so the matter goes, no matter 
how many skulls are flattened. I thought those 
spines would crack, every step those little slaves 
took.” 

The company listened with interest to the earn¬ 
est young girl, and were charmed with the energy 
and the philosophy she displayed in her day’s 
work. 

Enid Burr silently reflected through it all, and 
ran over in her mind the number of arrests that had 
been made to prevent similar cruelty to children. 
It was always the parents who had been arrested ; 
and Enid Burr was set thinking about causes. Her 
mind was open. Her theories were always exposed 
for revision. She thought of our custom of re¬ 
garding appearances instead of causes, of dealing 
with the man caught red-handed, without too 
closely inquiring into the state of that society that 
begot him, and the condition of things that bred 
him. 

She was relieved from her thoughts by her hus¬ 
band interjecting in a decided tone that savored 
V7 


somewhat of quiet indignation, “ I think that lit¬ 
tle bishop of yours is about right when he says we 
must trace evils to their sources, seek foundations, 
and stop this building on hay, wood, and stubble. 
It is all very well to arrest parents, but had we not 
better inquire why they have no coal in their cel¬ 
lars ? ” Here Esther began to give a more detailed 
account of her talk with her father. She learned 
that his profits, clear of all expenses, were fifty 
dollars a day; that if he was willing to give only 
a portion of this, he still could live, and the con¬ 
tractor could then give better wages to the work¬ 
men ; the workmen in turn could put coal into 
their cellars, and then the little girls need not be 
sent out to have their skulls flattened and their 
spines broken. But her father said it was not 
business-like; and so the result of all these methods 
is that little children are squeezed and ground be¬ 
tween the upper stone of business methods and the 
nether stone of circumstance. 

“ Papa then opened a drawer and gave me ten 
dollars, and told me to buy a hat if I liked. He 
also paid his subscription to the Society, and said 
I was a good girl to be thoughtful for the poor, 
but I really did not know much about business, 
and it would not be well to inquire too closely into 
the matter ; it was a complex question and men in 
business shut their eyes and got along the best they 


could. I don’t need a hat; those little girls had 
none ; they made a cushion of old rags and then 
loaded their dreadful loads on it, and staggered 
down the street.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 

Ways and Means. 

He liveth long who liveth well. 

All else is life but flung away, 

He liveth longest who can tell 
Of true things truly done each day. 

Anon. 

Quite late one evening after a busy day, Ai 
had settled down in his large wicker chair before 
a blazing fire, for his usual hour of light reading. 
He had drawn the blinds, for he wished to be en¬ 
tirely alone. It was his custom to keep his win¬ 
dows unshaded until late in the evening, to give 
the people of the street a glimpse of his room— 
his bright fire, the few pieces of bric-a-brac which 
had been given him, his pictorial papers with which 
he decorated the walls, his books, and the boys 
who rolled on his rugs; all these things made him 
the happy man he was, and he wished to share 
them with all who passed. But late in the even¬ 
ing he claimed an hour of solitude. He had just 
119 


taken down a volume of Whittier, when he heard 
a gentle, timid rap at the door. He opened it and 
the light of the fire aided him in recognizing the 
young priest who had followed in the procession 
to the little cathedral. He stood timidly, waiting 
for a special invitation. 

The bishop reached out both hands and drew 
him in, and placed him in the wicker chair. He 
seemed exhausted and really quite sick. As he re¬ 
moved his hat, the lines on this young face seemed 
deeper, and the gray in the hair more abundant, 
than Ai thought, the day he first saw him. He 
had a troubled look; but casting a glance about 
the poorly furnished room, and feeling still the 
warm grasp of the bishop’s hand, he took courage, 
as if this seemed a place where one might find 
sympathy. 

“ I came to see you at this late hour because 
I wanted to find you alone; I can now speak 
without being disturbed or limited by your engage¬ 
ments. Sometimes the business air in the treat¬ 
ment of our work takes out of it all its life and 
merit.” 

“Now we can talk as friends,” interjected the 
bishop, as he threw on the fire the contents of the 
waste basket, which sent out a delightful glow. 
The bishop moved up a little closer and asked 
what he might do for him. 

120 


“I have just taken, as you know—but vestries 
sometimes manage such things, and you may not 
know—I have just been called to the rectorship 
of St. John’s, and I would like to do my duty in 
that field, which I believe to be a good one, if 
properly cultivated.” 

“That is a fine old church,” said the bishop, 
“and you ought to feel happy with such op¬ 
portunities.” He then put more kindlings on 
the fire, which sent the shadows dancing on the 
walls. 

“ Yes, but there is nobody in it,” suggested the 
troubled man. 

“But there are plenty in the lanes around, I 
warrant you,” added the bishop, and we must 
seek them out and compel them,to come in. My 
uncle Toby was an old soldier, and he used to say 
there is nothing like changing your plan of 
attack. One great point is gained. You ac¬ 
knowledge that there is an enemy around; that 
is half the victory. Your old position won’t 
do, that is evident. How many will your church 
hold?” 

“ Eight hundred.” 

“ How many are there when your force is 
strongest ? ’ ’ 

“About two hundred.” 


I 21 


“ Then there is a waste of space for six hun¬ 
dred ; or three-fourths is wasted.” 

“It seems so.” 

“ How many gas jets ? ” 

“ Eighty.” 

“Twenty would do; a waste of sixty; at a 
dollar a year, sixty dollars, all wasted. This 
waste of gas is something that appeals to me very 
forcibly as I make my quiet dashes into the 
churches. I am irresistibly impelled toward 
counting the jets, which I find very frequently out¬ 
number the persons in the -congregations in our 
expensive churches. 

“The time will come when business principles 
will be applied to this matter of unproductive 
capital in the shape of expensive church architec¬ 
ture. But as to the gas, I have a friend, Impey, 
who tells me with a twinkle, that there seems to 
him a waste of gas in more senses than one. 
However, let that go.” Those lines seemed to 
fade for the moment. 

“You say there are many people around ? ” 

“Yes, but how to get them to come, is the 
question.” 

“ That church was a power once, and it can 
be made a power again ; and we will see the day 
when it will be done. You and I, my boy, will 
see it once more swarm with boys and girls.” 

122 


The cheerful air of the bishop put courage into 
the timid man, and he began to speak more 
freely. 

“If you will come here to-day a week, in the 
morning, I will have you meet a lady who may 
aid us to solve the matter. I will get her to 
draw up plans, and she will explain them to you 
and we will take counsel.” 

The young man arose to go. 

“ But before you go, I may as well give you a 
little idea of what I have been thinking about. 
You say you can spare fully three-fourths of your 
space. We will divide this unused space into at 
least three rooms. The other fourth will remain 
as your church, fitted up as usual for preaching 
and your usual services. We still need some 
preaching, but it is evident something else is more 
urgent, and so we need less preaching room and 
more of something else. You have, no doubt, 
some bright business man who will be pleased to 
take one of those rooms and do with it much as 
he would with his office—go to it regularly, take 
some interest, and feel an occasional burden on 
his mind growing out of that work. He will per¬ 
haps sit down and read to a few boys, who have 
few opportunities; this is a point gained. Then 
he will get them to read in turn until they be¬ 
come interested; this will set them thinking; 

123 


then one will speak out; that will provoke an¬ 
other to reply ; and so the evening will pass. If 
the book is one relating to fair dealing in every¬ 
day life, and justice in all things, it will be a 
great good to the world to have these boys think 
about it, for they will soon be men. That even¬ 
ing can be made a model for seven evenings in 
the week, all varied according to the progressive 
ideas of the business man, and the suggestions of 
the boys. Call this the Department of Justice. 
Paint the name over the door, or get one of the 
boys to do it.” 

The priest moved closer to the bishop. 

“ You have in your congregation, perhaps, an¬ 
other business man who is bright and capable of 
dealing with living issues. Give him a room and 
tell him it is his, and that he is to use it as he 
would his office. To make it a success he will 
not lock it up six days in the week. He will per¬ 
haps gather only a few boys at first to look at pic¬ 
torial papers, but that will lead to reading. He 
then will select books and articles which they will 
read individually and discuss in the circle. Per¬ 
haps they will look into the question of how men, 
rich and poor, are mutually dependent upon one 
another ; they will read of and discuss the institu¬ 
tions of our country and city,—its prisons, hospi¬ 
tals, schools, industrial agencies, commerce, and 
124 


the various living questions that come up among 
men living together. Call this the Department of 
Social Science. Have a boy learning a trade paint 
it over the door; he will take special interest in it 
and will do it well, I assure you.” 

“ Can boys be made to take an interest in such 
matters ? ” suggested the priest. 

“Try them ; cheat a boy at ball and see how 
soon his sense of justice is aroused; see how he 
will appeal to his fellows—to society. See how 
they will take an interest in an arrest or a fight. A 
boy will take an interest in anything that concerns 
man as living among men—Social Science, sir,— 
and we must see that the proper kind of light is 
shed upon these questions of life. 

“Your department of social science will be a 
power, and we must see that it is established. I 
say we, for I mean to help you. How many heart¬ 
aches in this world could have been avoided, if the 
boy, who has grown into a man, had been brought 
up at the feet of your plain man in your depart¬ 
ment of justice, and learnt the simple rule of just 
dealing, as one kind boy deals with another—free 
from all false ambitions and the baser passions that 
rule men later in life. We must get back to the 
justice of youth, and away from the justice of 
technicality. Then we will find some bright 
woman who wants something to do as an outlet for 
* 125 


her energies ; give her a room and tell her it is her 
own. ’ ’ 

The young priest’s eyes brightened and he moved 
nervously in his chair ; this was the third time this 
bishop said we . 

“ This woman will gather the younger children, 
boys and girls who throw mud, and who make 
noises, who kick gates and annoy their neighbors. 
These are not bad children, they simply want 
some rational way to give vent to their abundant 
energy ; not finding a rational way, they find an 
irrational one. The woman will teach them a 
more excellent way. She will not deprive them of 
mud, but will teach them to mould it into a crude 
vase, an animal, or a.locomotive. She will teach 
those noisy feet to tramp in orderly methodical 
steps. Those noises will be turned into songs of 
clean and helpful words; and the hours will be 
gone only too soon. Call it a Kindergarten. The 
children will rebel against the school, but will cry 
for the Kindergarten. That is about what we must 
do ; and I will get my friend to draw up the plans 
of alterations. Humanity is there, you admit; 
the framework of a church is there, too ; we must 
cause these dry bones to live.” 

They talked long and earnestly ; the priest fre¬ 
quently taking hold of the bishop’s arm, and 
pressing it convulsively, which the bishop some- 
126 • 


times answered by playfully tapping him on the 
shoulder. He arose a second time to go but the 
bishop would not have it; he must not go out on 
such a night, for the rain was falling and great drops 
of sleet were blown against the window. No one 
expected him home, and he could have a bed in 
there among the books. It was a little alcove com¬ 
pletely lined with shelves, even the rafters had 
shelves suspended from them. At the entrance 
was a revolving book-case, operating like a turn¬ 
stile. At the other end was a small window, the 
light falling upon the pillow of a narrow bed which 
was placed in the centre of the alcove, leaving 
scarcely room for passage to the books. Here the 
bishop read when fatigued, and the tir^d man was 
shown to this bed. 


CHAPTER XV. 

Was He Intrusive? 

The truth shall make you free.— Jesus. 

When it reached the bishop’s ear that the 
church at the corner of Franklin and Wood had 
been sold, he was somewhat surprised. That it 
had escaped his notice was exasperating, but it 
was now beyond his control. To see any retreat 
127 


of the ranks was always to him sad and annoying. 
When, however, on inquiring, he learned that the 
property had been bought by Impey, he raised his 
eyebrows and wondered what all this might mean. 
Possibly Impey, after all, was a Christian out and 
out, and only affected his little objections. Impey 
might be his secret ally after all, and might have 
saved the property to the Church. While the 
bishop was framing his plans for active, aggressive 
work at that corner, Impey was in a little room 
of the church, laying his plans. 

There was no doubt, he concluded, after think¬ 
ing the matter over carefully, that conventional 
Christianity was a failure as a practical force, and 
something else must be brought in as a substitute, 
or at least as a supplement. He had walked the 
streets of the neighborhood and had seen the 
shameful condition of things, and was the more 
convinced of the impotence of this creed to meet 
the situation. The trouble is, he thought, that 
no one believes the creed to which he nominally 
adheres. These sellers of rum are all baptized 
Christians, but their faith sits lightly on them. 

These criminals are all versed in the language 
of the Sunday School, but it has not governed 
their lives. This seething mass of corrupt 
humanity has all been steeped in the proper for¬ 
mulas of the Christian creeds, but they have failed to 
128 


keep it pure. There is something wrong. Perhaps 
it is not on account of the principles of Christ, but 
because the principles of Christ have been mis¬ 
represented, and the man has been caricatured, 
that this indifference to, or revulsion from conven¬ 
tional Christianity has been brought about. 

Then, too, perhaps the principles of one man 
did not embody all truth, and the principles of 
other men were needed to round out the whole sum 
of truth. Thus he reasoned to himself as he looked 
about him and saw the effect of the system upon 
character. But what was to be done, was the ques¬ 
tion. That the Christians did not themselves be¬ 
lieve very earnestly in the strength of their position 
was evident. This was seen in their retreats from 
the field. 

Here was humanity sick, and these organized 
Christians had nothing to offer for its healing. 
Or if it made a pretense of offering, it was in such 
doses and such form that no one could seriously be 
expected to take it. But the most marked con¬ 
fession of weakness was this readiness to re¬ 
treat. 

On the side of the masses there was mistrust; it 
seemed to them that these creeds did not produce 
practical righteousness. They had not met with 
their ideals among the believers of these creeds. 

The men and women walking these streets had 
9 T2 9 


at some time in their lives met with injustice at 
the hands of one of these brethren, and it pro¬ 
duced a shock to their moral sense ; there followed 
a revolt, or an indifference to a system that pro¬ 
duced such poor men as to make it possible for one 
to be wounded in the house of one’s friends. This 
want of practical righteousness repelled, and so 
they sold their rum, and sold themselves, and re¬ 
venged themselves by petty thefts, and went on in 
their unclean ways; excusing themselves in the 
thought that had it not been for a certain wrong 
done them, and a certain injustice, they would not 
be in this present state; and so they go on and 
become utterly reckless. Impey inquired into the 
matter and found that for him to mention Chris¬ 
tianity to some men was damaging to his cause. 
This of course arose, he knew, on account of the 
misrepresentations of the real Jesus ; he had been 
caricatured ; and the remedy was to set these peo¬ 
ple right, and state the facts. 

False teaching was at the bottom of the trouble. 
It would be a great gain to separate Jesus and his 
teaching from the accretions which have gathered 
through the years, mostly through the ignorance 
of teachers, and the inherent superstition of some 
men. These accretions of Christianity misled the 
unwary, and caused a revolt among thinkers ; it 
would be justice to Jesus to separate them from 
130 


that which he really taught, and thus raise the 
great teacher to a level where the clear-thoughted 
could meet him, and so respect him. This would 
meet the difficulties of a class very large indeed, 
men with noble impulses and a leaning toward the 
righteous act, who yet have no sympathy with or¬ 
ganized Christianity as found and exemplified in 
life. 

Then also there may be truths in other direc¬ 
tions. Over and above this Christianity, when 
that has been threshed out from the chaff, 
there may be something vitalizing, truthful, com¬ 
ing from other sources; this must be brought in 
to supplement this pure truth of Christianity. The 
rills that converge to form this great river of truth 
are many, and they come from sources widely 
separated. Possibly Buddha has something to 
offer, very old; possibly the one God of the 
Hebrews has a word that ought to be heeded ; per¬ 
haps Mohammed may have a grain that may serve 
for the purifying of society ; and so, too, perhaps 
there is a bit of truth uttered by those of lesser 
note and fame, voices about us, not soft in their 
cadences, and frequently too, quite soft, so that 
they are often unnoticed and entirely lost. Possi¬ 
bly we have heard with one ear only, and moved 
in grooves too narrow, and been entirely too one¬ 
sided. That this great force of truth has not pre- 
x 3 r 


vailed, seems to be evident. But perhaps the 
trouble is that we have smothered it, or have taken 
a lie in its stead. 

Maybe we are not willing to seek the truth in the 
right direction, or in all directions. 

The little room seemed to stifle him as Impey 
walked up and down, looking out of the window 
occasionally and thinking it all over. Here was a 
Church-that had stood for the truth, this truth that 
should make men free ; and were these men and 
women free ?—or were they slaves, slaves to their sel¬ 
fish instincts, slaves to their appetites, slaves to all 
the baser masters that rule mankind ? There was an¬ 
other Church around the corner that stood for the 
truth that should make men free ; but they long 
ago had retreated from the field, leaving humanity 
—their own brethren, too—in bondage—prison¬ 
ers in despair. He sat down by a table and 
fingered mechanically a Bible, and then rose 
again nervously and looked into the empty church. 
It smelt musty, and it needed airing ; the thing 
stood in need of renovation, he thought. He then 
made a mental calculation as to the dimensions; 
and then went out into the street, leaving the 
door standing wide open. “.They won’t go in, I 
warrant you,” he muttered to himself as he walked 
in the direction of Minster Street, to have a talk 
with Ai. 


1 3 2 


“ I am glad you came, Impey ; for I need your 
assistance in pulling the ropes.” 

Impey looked astonished; to think that this 
straight-forward, sincere, and single-minded man 
should have degenerated into a puller of wires'and 
ropes. 

“She was a woman in the true sense of the 
word,” continued Ai, “and it is time that such 
have recognition.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

Ai then explained. 

“ Did she make speeches? ” inquired Impey. 

“No.” 

Did she serve on numerous committees? ” 

“No.” 

“ Did she make the other women green with 
envy ? ’ * 

“No.” 

“Did she write ? ” 

“ She could write her name.” 

“ What did she do then, that the flag ought to 
be lowered ?—I never heard of her. ’ ’ 

“She was a woman, a plain woman; not en¬ 
tirely ignorant, read a little while nursing her 
baby ; mended her children’s clothes ; cooked her 
husband’s meals, and made her home such that he 
longed to get there in the evening. She never 
came to my Church and yet was always serving. I 
133 


could teach her little of duty she did not know; 
her trouble, she said, was in the willing. I often 
went to her home because I learnt so much. She 
enriched the world by bringing into it three men, 
a carpenter, a plumber, and a cleaner of the 
streets. The carpenter once said, * I do not give 
in church collections,—I give honest houses.’ 
The plumber was once discharged because he re¬ 
fused to cover up a defective drain. The cleaner 
of streets had a gang of men who loaded ashes 
conscientiously, and observed a code of ethics in 
dumping that never left any heartaches. A 
woman who so ordered her affairs as to render such 
help to society was no unimportant person. Yes, 
Impey, we must lower the flag of the school-house 
half-mast; a woman has been taken away from us 
—a plain woman—but her worth will yet be felt in 
the honest houses, the honest plumbing, the clean 
streets. Let us ask the boys to help us and teach 
them its significance. Come, Impey, help me to 
manipulate the ropes.” 

As they walked back to Ai’s room, after the low¬ 
ering of the flag, each seemed trying to find away 
to introduce the subject of the new venture at 
Franklin and Wood, and both felt diffident. At 
last the bishop remarked that he was glad to hear 
that he was to have such an assistant in his work, 
that he had heard of Impey’s purchase. 

*34 


“ I should be pleased to ha we your help and co¬ 
operation,” retorted Impey; “ but in this matter I 
must be leader and you will follow.” 

The bishop looked pleased at his spirit, and in¬ 
quired particulars. 

“ You had,” said Impey, “ a fair chance and a 
fair field around the.corner ; but you yielded the 
ground and deserted the field; it is time that 
something else were tried.” 

‘ ‘ What do you mean ? ’ ’ 

“You remember, but perhaps you don’t, St. 
Philip’s, just around the corner ? It is no Church 
now. By elevation and enlargement, by additions 
and readjustments it became a machinery for the 
making of a fortune. It was a Church once, a ma¬ 
chinery for the making of men.” 

“ I do not remember, but have heard of it,” 
thoughtfully said the bishop. 

“The Church I bought and St. Philip’s almost 
touched one another at their chancel ends, and 
stretched out at right angles, St. Philip’s facing 
Vine Street, and my Church facing Franklin Street. 
A yard of graves filled the angle. The organized 
Christianity, called St. Philip’s, has removed long 
ago ; but the wickedness of the neighborhood is 
still there. Wickedness, indeed, seems to have or¬ 
ganized itself still stronger since this retreat, and 
is taking a new lease of life.” As Impey was 
r 35 


about to go on, the bishop timidly remarked that 
this happened long before his time. “ You know,” 
said he sadly, “ that I was not responsible for that 
deflection; that was before my time, and no one- 
can be more sorry than I, to see any such re¬ 
treat.” 

“ Nevertheless, there is the hard fact; and now 
there was to be another surrender of a stronghold. 

I have, however, taken the matter into my own 
hands. I want you, bishop, to help me all you 
can, but as to leadership, you will allow me that.” 

The bishop felt sad and a little irritated, and re¬ 
turned to the St. Philip’s matter, which he him¬ 
self had termed a deflection. He felt that some¬ 
thing might be said that might make the matter 
appear not so bad after all. He reminded Impey 
that the organization had only changed its base of 
operation and had removed to Broad and Spring 
Garden Streets, and had there joined hands with 
another church, and thus formed a formidable and 
solid phalanx, moving against the enemy. The 
united churches were doing a good work for hu¬ 
manity now. 

“ No doubt, no doubt,” interrupted Impey, 
“ but it is the same story over again ; it is a con¬ 
fession of weakness and an inability to cope with 
the evils of society. The removal simply means, 
136 


a neglecting to feed the flock that is starving, and 
a going to shear the wool of the well-fed.” 

“ But they are gathering the children, I under¬ 
stand,” offered the troubled bishop, “ and are do¬ 
ing active, aggressive work; they are going to 
make alterations, so as to have suitable machinery 
for meeting the demands of the times, and are 
about regaining their lost ground.” 

“Such lost ground,” replied Impey excitedly, 
“can never be regained. Such an enemy can 
never be fought at a distance. At close range— 
at close range,-—it is the only way to meet such an 
enemy.” 

“But they have a good field where they have 
gone to,” suggested the bishop. 

“ Splendid, excellent, sir; but who is to guaran¬ 
tee that they will hold out there when tribulations 
arise ? This shifting about is a confession of weak¬ 
ness ; the tree seems to grow only in a certain 
soil. This may be the order in nature, but your 
Christianity is supposed to possess the earth, and 
take into its circle all sorts and conditions—the en¬ 
tire brotherhood. But does it do so ? Your priest 
maps out for himself a narrow circle, and strives 
to create for himself a pleasant place. If his nat¬ 
ural sagacity has failed him, and he finds the field 
hard, he retreats, no matter about the swarming 
hive of imperfect humanity he leaves behind. He 
137 


confesses that what he has to offer will flourish 
only in certain soils, and he seeks those. The 
Nazarene gathered about him the motley crowd, 
—the common people. But where is your priest 
who has clinging to his skirts, as to a brother, the 
sorrowing poor ?—who is really a friend of sin¬ 
ners, and really loves little children ? Where is 
your priest who speaks as if he had a vision; as 
if he believed that righteousness should one day pos¬ 
sess the earth, and that he was ushering in the 
dawn by spreading light among the erring, by 
bringing strength to the weak, by uplifting the 
down-trodden of the earth, and by the practice of 
a true justice ? Is not your work a pleasant going 
among the ninety and nine just persons who seem 
to need no repentance; and then when some 
startling facts reveal that they do need repent¬ 
ance like other people, these prophets seal their 
lips and have no words.” 

The bishop had a troubled look and watched 
the fire during a long silence. 

He trembled with emotion, Impey thought. 
During this silence, a feeling of pity came to Im¬ 
pey, and he thought that perhaps he had been 
too hard, perhaps had been misinterpreted by his 
bosom friend, who was living there in poverty 
among the poorest of the poor, and was under¬ 
going a daily crucifixion that others might have 

138 


light and help. He looked about his poor room, 
and then at the fine man who was capable of 
appreciating the better and more comfortable 
things of life. He was stung with remorse by 
the thought that perhaps the bishop had taken 
all these truths to himself. So he tried to make 
plain what he meant. “But” said Impey, “they 
are not all alike. Through a selfish world there 
was moving grandly, often obscurely, a Nazarene. 
Such men we still have. We want a few more 
like yourself.” 

This lightened his heart a little, but Ai seemed 
still to'have something weighing upon him. He 
looked Impey in the face for a moment and then 
asked him whether he proposed to attack Chris¬ 
tianity. 

“ No, not attack, but supplement it. To attack 
Christianity were to attack a great deal of truth ; 
this truth ought to be emphasized rather, and 
then supplemented by other light from the stars 
themselves. We have grasped only a little truth ; 
now we must advance and take possession of the 
whole truth and nothing but the truth.” 

The bishop pressed his hand as he arose to go : 

“ May light and courage be given you.” 

x 39 


CHAPTER XVI * 


* Suppressed. 


140 


CHAPTER XVII. 

A Chapter Thrown In. 


A winged word hath struck ineradically in a million hearts, and 
envenomed every hour throughout their hard pulsation. On a winged 
word hath hung the destiny of nations. On a winged word hath 
human wisdom been willing to cast the immortal soul, and leave it 
dependent for all its future happiness.— fF. S. Landor. 

My friend Irapey reminds me that the readers 
of this book had a very narrow escape for which 
they will be very grateful when they come to think 
about it. Do you remember, General, that battle 
that you might have gotten into ? Think, for a 
moment, of its flow of blood, the shrieks of the 
wounded and their torturing thirst, the smell of 
powder, the fatigue of the march, the pangs of 
hunger, the roar of cannon, the beating of drums, 
the rush of calvary, the glitter of bayonets ;—re¬ 
member, I said the battle that you might —have got¬ 
ten into. Of course you never did get into it; you 
always got out of it; you never ran those risks, 
nor were exposed to those dangers j but you might 
have gotten into an awful charnel-house. That re¬ 
flection makes you the thankful man that you are. 
Three times a day you get down on your knees 
and feel grateful for having somehow escaped 
141 


danger,—not having even come near it. And so 
appretiative reader, yon entertain toward me a 
feeling akin to the General’s, for having protected 
yon from the awful consequences that would have 
ensued had I not chosen and written Ai, but with, 
one dash of the pen, in cold blood, deliberately 
and intentionally traced out in my clear, bold, 
round hand, Nebuchadnezzar Wallenstein , and 
selected him as the hero of this tale. Ask the 
Professor about this. He says that if you could 
see under a microscope the action of the nerves 
and muscles and the rush of blood, brought 
about in the thinking of a single thought, how¬ 
ever tiny, men would be so overcome by the ter¬ 
rible sight, that they would think a long time be¬ 
fore they could bring their minds to think another 
thought. Mentel action is a terrible thing. Ask 
the Professor about this and you will be convinced 
that Impey was right. You will see how much 
genuine consideration there was for humanity, how 
much real benevolence there lay back of it all, 
when I reduced from twenty-five to two letters the 
name of my hero. Did you even think about it? 
If you did not, then do. Think of the difference 
between having to walk twenty-five miles to the 
post-office instead of only two, just across the hill. 
Think of the strain saved to the eye is not being 
obliged to see those twenty-three additional letters, 
142 


and the saving of brain-force in not being obliged 
to think how they ought to be pronounced. And 
looking at the matter from a business standpoint, 
the saving in type-setting is simply wonderful. 
Every time the hero’s name occurs, the type-setter 
is saved the trouble of going for twenty-three ad¬ 
ditional letters. 

You may go through this book and count the 
number of times the name occurs, and see for 
yourself, if you like. Then consider—for I do 
not care to ask anyone to think, after what the 
Professor has told me,—consider the number of 
additional pages it would have taken, and the 
extra quantity of ink. All this, of course, would 
have been preceded by the extra destruction of 
pens, and cost of paper, and postage, in getting 
the extra manuscript to the printer. This would 
have made a difference in the cost of the book. 
Pens, ink, paper, type-setting, printing—all cost 
money, and it has been saved, and you have the 
benefit of it. But the Professor’s scientific dis¬ 
covery and suggestion, dear Madam, is perhaps 
the strongest consideration calling for gratefulness 
on your part. The wear and tear upon the brain 
that was spared you, with its possible conse¬ 
quences, will make you as grateful as is the General. 
Of course you cannot appreciate all this without 
counting the number of times the name occurs,— 
J 4 3 


this I do not ask you to do; but merely wish to 
call your attention to a great truth,—that it is in 
just such little things that true benevolence and 
the kindly heart show themselves. There was here 
a real interest in, and consideration for, humanity 
in general and you in particular. 

And now consider for a moment another matter. 
As this book may be translated into every known 
tongue, it will be a very simple matter to have to 
translate simply, Ai. The saving in type-setting 
will be simply enormous,—considering that every 
language will require a separate reprint, if all na¬ 
tions on the face of the globe will insist upon hav¬ 
ing the book. 

Now let me give you still another, and an en¬ 
tirely new matter, for your consideration. Won’t 
you come over and sit here, Susie?—there is 
plenty of room. 

That’s right—I knew you would. 

Did you ever consider-—but really you must not 
get offended at what I wish to say,—will you? 

No,—I knew you would not. 

Did you ever reflect on the chronic laziness of 
mankind ? I mean men and women in general. 
Of course we can only know this fact by observing 
individuals. Now take yourself for example. You 
have been reading this book without discovering 
that in this chapter alone there have been thus far 
144 


2 words misspelt; 3 errors in punctuation; 5 typo¬ 
graphical errors; 1 of ignorance, not mine; and 
1 slip in grammar; the faculty is divided,— 
some say, none, but I confess to one,—and yet 
you have never noticed this. Your cousin noticed 
some, but she passed them all over in her sweet 
charity, and said they were merely typographical 
errors. But they are not. They were deliber¬ 
ately and intentionally put there to show you" how 
instinctively lazy we are, and how little attention 
we really pay, even to such a book as this. We 
rush along to see how it all turns out, and miss the 
real pith and point of its teaching. You will of 
course see the importance now of the strictest at¬ 
tention ; for there is not a sentence which was not 
written and re-written for your especial benefit and 
instruction. But what was not put in, will per¬ 
haps appeal to you most strongly. Hundreds of 
words have been expunged, even whole chapters 
have been thrown out,—out of consideration for 
you. One publisher wished to throw out the 
whole book—for the good of the human race, as 
he archly remarked. That man is now bitterly 
repenting his thoughtlessness. 

But after the Professor’s suggestion, you will 
admit the truly altruistic spirit pervading these 
pages. It is in just such little things,—in the un- 
10 145 


noticed thoughtful omissions of life, that the truly 
kindly heart shows itself. 


IpgT" Ai. 

j]g|PNebuchadnezzar Wallenstein. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

Concerning the Suppressed Chapter. 

What is it ye would see ? 

If ought of woe, or wonder, cease your search.— Shakespeare. 

When I called at the office of The Underground 
Magazine to see why the November number had 
been so long delayed, I was met by the editor as 
he was going out to dinner. He did not invite 
me to go with him, but turned back and waved 
me to a chair. I was anxious to see how my work 
looked in print, but tried to appear unconcerned. 
He also seemed nervous about something, though 
he endeavored to conceal his feelings, with, how¬ 
ever, as little success as I had. There was a pause, 
quite long, but he finally said, “ I ordered the 
presses stopped and took out that chapter.” He 
added something more, but it was so vague, that I 
146 


was not quite sure of the motive for his action. 
The way he said it led me to think that he meant 
that the meat was too strong for the babes to digest; 
though when thinking it over, I got the idea that 
he might possibly mean that such milk was too 
weak for this progressive, thoughtful age. He had 
a most tantalizing way of concealing his thoughts. 
There was one thing sure, however—I had been 
paid for it. I sold his reverend lordship suffi- 
cent material to make a good substantial pair, of 
full length; but if he thinks that this sinful age 
demands Knickerbockers, there is nothing to be 
consulted but his own good pleasure. Possibly 
the remnant can be used for an apron. 

The pressman said it could best be arranged by 
a blank and a star. 

This was a simple thing to do, but the commo¬ 
tion it caused cannot easily be imagined. The 
public at once was aroused, imaginations were 
stimulated, and not a few wanted to know the con¬ 
tents of that suppressed chapter. The public of 
course turned to the papers for reliable informa¬ 
tion. 

The Press said, the chapter is supposed to have 
given an account of how the trolly ordinance was 
passed; and then went into an explanation of 
what was meant by the trolly, something that is 
not likely to be understood at this time, but which 
147 


nevertheless excited no little popular interest fifty 
years ago. The chapter also had some remarkable 
statements as to the methods employed behind the 
scenes, which were fair samples of the purity of 
politics and legislatures half a century ago. 

The Telegraph regarded the whole matter as a 
pleasantry of the author’s, and it worked well, as 
the sale of the periodical had greatly increased. 
A representative of the Telegraph had seen the 
author, and had become convinced that there 
never had been a chapter written. The author 
knew the public, and thought a blank gave as much 
diversion and amusement as a written chapter, 
which needed to be very bright indeed to cause as 
much diversion as this omission. Readers wanted 
diversion and they got it. 

The Bulletin gave what was claimed to be an 
abstract of the chapter. It was to the effect that 
bishops were elected much like the president of 
the country or any other politician; that it was a 
singular piece of business behind the scenes; as 
peculiar in some respects as in England, where the 
Queen hands in the name of the prospective bishop 
and commands his election, and then the body 
goes into the cathedral and prays for light and 
guidance as to the choice of a fit person for the 
holy office. This suppressed Chapter also gave an 
amusing account of a celebrated case, that of a 
148 


prelate, of whom strangers invariably remarked, 
after an introduction, “ I wonder how he ever 
came to be made a bishop ? ” 

The Ledger said that no exact information could 
be obtained concerning the suppressed chapter; 
that only six copies of the periodical had been 
run off the press, when it was stopped, the copies 
destroyed, and the chapter taken out. It was sup¬ 
posed, however, that the author was certain that 
more could be made of it in a future book ; as it 
contained gold, that by judicious hammering, 
might be made into quite an ornament,—in short, 
there was to be another book; and that if poetry 
was to be inserted, it would probably be a three- 
volume affair. 

The Record surmised that the chapter contained 
the author’s real opinions concerning the final tri¬ 
umph of the Holy See over all opposing forces ; 
but for some unaccountable reason, which no one 
seems able to discover, the Chapter, which is said 
to have been really quite remarkable, was sup¬ 
pressed. 

The North American said that the sermon 
preached at Ai’s consecration had been inserted ; 
but the publisher impiously maintained that it 
was not live matter, and so the chapter was sup¬ 
pressed. 

The Times maintained that the blank was left 
149 


for the special accommodation of that man who is 
sure to sing his marginal notes. His bright 
thoughts will now be written in one place, mak¬ 
ing the most thoughtful chapter in the book, per¬ 
haps. This chapter in each book will be different, 
as will be seen ; but all may be collected some 
day, and published as a literary curiosity. It was 
an artful, designing idea, which will yet bear fruit 
in the shape of unsullied margins, to the delight 
of trustful friends and painstaking librarians. 

The Item was the only paper that treated the 
matter editorially. This was to the effect that a 
representative of the Item had seen the chapter, 
but that the manner in which the information was 
obtained did not commend itself to the policy and 
principles of true journalism, and that the repre¬ 
sentative had been discharged. He had intruded 
into the privacy of the home; and while this 
might be considered by others of the profession as 
enterprise, invasion of the sanctity of the home 
merited only rebuke, from those who wished to 
keep their journalistic skirts unsullied. 

x 5° 


CHAPTER XIX. 


A Wedding Dance. 


I made them lay their hands in mine and swear 
To reverence the king as if he were their conscience 
And their conscience as their king. 

To ride abroad redressing human wrongs. 

To speak no slander, no, nor listen to it. 

To lead sweet lives in purest chastity. 

To love one maiden only, cleave to her. 

And worship her by years of noble deeds. 

Tennyson. 


The marriage of Esther Airy was an event in 
Philadelphia’s fashionable circle. She was mar¬ 
ried in her new home, 422 S. Front Street. Mrs. 
Airy had at first resisted this going to the old 
homestead, but she yielded gracefully in the end. 
She was of the diplomatic turn of mind that 
quickly perceived when the combination of cir¬ 
cumstances was against her, and then knew how 
to yield in such a way as not even have it seem a 
yielding, but rather a voluntary move for the best 
advantage. Mrs. Airy had her friends soon of the 
opinion that she was to be congratulated on the 
course things were taking; and seizing every point 
of advantage made them really quite envious. 
The old house was a fine vantage ground. There 


was a move toward the aesthetic in architecture, 
and this served her well. There was a rivalry in 
the tearing down of fronts and substituting new 
fronts of some antique pattern. The architects 
were vying with one another in their efforts to in¬ 
vent the strangest and oddest designs. They re¬ 
fused to move beyond the magic lines, but im¬ 
ported art and beauty and stamped their houses 
with it in their reverence for the past. But Mrs. 
Airy would have none of it. This was all imita¬ 
tion, and she said they even tried to get the cheap¬ 
est imitations ;—there was an unreality about it all 
which she scorned and would not yield to. Her 
Esther should have the real thing or nothing. 
Her friends should see something which would not 
on the face of it strike one as an affectation,— 
a thing out of place. Everything should be in 
perfect harmony with the surroundings; this 
would prove fascinating to lovers of art and the 
antique, and would have its desired effect. There 
have been spacious halls constructed of late years, 
but none that seem to speafc hospitable words like 
these halls. 

There have been no successful imitations of 
those arches, that seem to welcome by their 
curves; and that stairway, with its quaint mahog¬ 
any railing and pillars,.—there could be no imi¬ 
tation of that. There existed circular stair-ways, 
I 5 2 


no doubt, and there were numerous wide and 
beautiful angular stair-ways with their restful plat¬ 
forms ; but you could go through all this city and 
not find another oval stair-way, with one continu¬ 
ous railing from roof to cellar. The small brother 
of Esther thought it the finest unobstructed device 
he had ever seen. Mrs. Airy would make sure, to 
have the mammas of Esther’s friends see this, and 
would stand by and notice the effect. 

Then those oval windows piercing the walls 
here and there ; a genuine latticed window with 
lead a century old ; dormer windows with their 
moss-covered shingles and fine mouldings ; open 
fire-places and their carved mantelpieces ; corner 
closets with their tiny square panes for exhibiting 
china; overhanging wooden cornices, solid and 
imposing, looking down with scorn upon imita¬ 
tions in tin ; heavy shutters studded with broad¬ 
headed, wroughtiron nails, as if for a defense 
against revolutionary bullets ; walls scraped of a 
century’s accumulation of paper, down to the 
original plaster, against which the Britishers 
lazily leaned as they talked and proposed to fair 
maidens, during Howe’s occupation,—all this Mrs. 
Airy ran over in her quick mind, and she would 
have this whole perverseness of Esther’s turned 
to advantage, making it appear one of the great¬ 
est successes which an ambitious woman might de- 
J 53 


sire. The house was renovated and furnished 
suitably, in perfect accord with the place. No ex¬ 
pense was spared by the bride’s mother, who. owed 
a heartache of envy to a certain woman, whom 
she should surely invite, and so pay back. Mrs. 
Airy’s opportunity had now come, and Esther’s 
wilfulness had hastened it. 

The wedding was one long remembered;— 
the scene bright and many colored, yet strangely 
simple. The young girls of Esther’s acquaint¬ 
ance predominated, and there was a correspond¬ 
ing proportion of young beaux. A sprinkling of 
sailors, whom Esther had met in her work, were 
there with their wives and children. Ai, the 
bishop, performed the ceremony under the arch 
in the hall, which was hung with smilax and 
flowers. The sailors had formed beautiful de¬ 
signs of ropes and covered them with vines and 
flowers. Impey was there, and after the ceremony 
by the bishop, he read selections from “ Idyls of 
the King.” Then followed a dance by the young 
people, which was a scene of simple joy and in¬ 
nocent merriment. 

The young girls were dressed in loose clinging 
robes of inexpensive muslin ; with girdles decked 
with smilax and roses; some in the manner of 
Greek maidens, others affecting the costumes of 
colonial days. The youths wore knee-breeches 
*54 


with silk stockings, and had huge buckles on their 
shoes. 

The orchestra was a pleasing feature. Enid 
Burr had acquaintance among the Italians of the 
neighborhood, and had organized their musical 
talent. A young girl of imposing form was robed 
in a flowing Roman robe, gathered loosely at the 
neck, displaying a shapely dark-skinned arm. She 
played upon a harp. Indeed, all the instruments 
were of ancient Greek or Roman order. A few 
girls had long slender pipes, as if at a procession 
of the vestals. The orchestra was half concealed 
behind a large harp which reached to the ceiling, 
making the scene an enchanting one. The strings 
of this harp were a contribution of ropes given by 
the sailors, who decked them with clinging vines. 
The old dances of colonial times were revived, 
and the men from foreign climes had previously 
been consulted as to quaint, simple dances of their 
native lands, a few of which the children danced. 
But especial effort was made to have realistic rep¬ 
resentations of their ancestors, and of the merry 
times their great-grandmothers had with the gal¬ 
lant officers of the famous occupation. The bishop 
could not be driven away and was one of the last 
to leave the house. He loved to see the youth 
revelling in their innocent delights, and moved 
among them like one as young and light of heart 
155 


as they. He encouraged their pranks, and talked 
in gayest vein, even making merry with them; 
and the hours had no cares, and there was no sor¬ 
row in this world to him,—only when the thought 
would irresistibly force itself upon him, that it 
could not be so forever with these young hearts. 
One thing, however, was noticeable,—he always 
withdrew from the room when the dancing began. 
This was not a protest, but his action was prompted 
by a deep feeling which he one day disclosed. To 
see these youths and maidens in their innocent 
glee, suggested to him a scene Edenic in its purity, 
and he felt unfit to look upon it,—did not care to 
disturb it, or in any way interfere with it by his 
presence. This lightness of heart, this freedom 
from care, this absence of rivalry and of envy,— 
all seemed to him so pure and so Edenic, that one 
like himself, had no right to look upon and disturb 
these uncontaminated, innocent spirits. And so 
the bishop turned his face to the wall, or with¬ 
drew to the hall, or perhaps needed the fresh air 
outside, when the young people began their dances. 
He had, however, his ideas with regard to the 
dancing of anyone above a certain age. It then 
ceased to be an Eden. It rather became a season 
of bitter rivalry, where stinging envy left its heart¬ 
aches, and vainglory was the ruling passion of the 
hour. It ceased to be the simple joy of youth, 

156 


but rather the crafty seeking after some hollow am¬ 
bition. Youth enjoyed the dances ; beyond youth 
there was the enjoyment of social victories. The 
bishop and Impey often talked of the matter, and 
they did not agree. Impey became gayer as the 
streaks of gray appeared ; but then, the bishop 
maintained, he was an exceptional soul;—it was 
simply impossible for Impey to feel wickedly 
envious, or to be actuated by pique, or to have any 
vain or hollow ambitions. 

“ Did you ever notice,” said the bishop to one 
of the girls, “ that the quadrille called the Polacca 
is peculiar in this one respect,—that it never is 
danced to any other than one particular air ? It is 
not so with other movements,—there are many 
pleasing airs to which they may be danced; but 
it would seem strange to hear a new air for the 
Polacca.” 

Then one of the bright-cheeked girls of the 
group remarked playfully,—“And did you ever 
notice, Bishop, another peculiarity of the Polacca, 
—that it is an uncommonly warm dance .” This 
set all the group laughing and fanning themselves 
vigorously, and then they all fanned the bishop, and 
formed a circle from which he should not escape 
them. 

While this merriment was going on in the hall¬ 
way, there were little groups stationed at the front 
157 


windows, listening to the yarns of, the sailors of 
the neighborhood, who had gathered on the porch 
by invitation of the bride. Among them were a 
few who had just come into port, and had come to 
the house—which had been their stopping place for 
years. In recent times the old place had been a 
sailors’ hotel. These mariners just in port, were 
surprised by the gay scene At the two windows 
were being spun two thrilling yarns of sea-serpents 
which the tars had actually seen. This fascinated 
the young girls, and they crowded the windows to 
hear these wonderful adventures. 

They 'then brought to the simple-hearted men of 
the sea, cake and cream, which courtesy drew from 
them still more astonishing yarns. 

The statistics of the engagements could not ac¬ 
curately be gathered; but the fruits of the con¬ 
quests have since appeared. The idea of dwelling 
in the homes of one’s ancestors received a mighty 
impetus, from the marriage and house-warming of 
Esther Airy. 


CHAPTER XX. 

A Report of Work. 

High talk of noble deeds.— Tennyson. 

The new tenements were completed, and Ai 

158 


had the pleasure of seeing the families return to 
their quarters. He made sure that the sai?ie peo¬ 
ple should come back. There were a few who 
anticipated an increase of rents, but they were as¬ 
sured that the rents would be the same for the 
same number of rooms, and this brought about the 
desired result. There was not such a marked im¬ 
provement at first among the older people of fixed 
habits, but the work among the young people 
brought encouraging results. In the middle of the 
new row of buildings was located an industrial 
school, where the girls were taught the art of plain 
housekeeping; and this acted like a Charm. 

The girls made use of their knowledge in their 
own homes, and quite a rivalry sprang up among 
them. They invited their neighbors and exhibited 
their tidy homes, and this provoked still more 
emulation. Enid Burr had secured the interest 
and co-operation of her lady friends, who gave 
particular instruction in housekeeping. Each took 
charge of the girls for only a month, and then was 
followed by another, and so in turn by others; 
this gave a variety, and all phases of good house¬ 
keeping were brought out. There was nothing 
stilted in this method, and professional perfunc¬ 
toriness was avoided. But Mrs. Burr maintained 
that it did the ladies as much good as the girls. 
They thought they were imparting knowledge; 

159 


but they themselves were growing warm-hearted 
and sympathetic, and receiving an insight into the 
condition of the other half. This lectureship, as 
she called it, was the wisest stroke she had yet 
made. Gradually, however, the fruits of the new 
departure began to appear. The workingmen had 
cleaner homes, free from vermin, and more restful 
nights. The day depends largely upon the night 
you have had. 

In the morning, the men arose refreshed, and 
after a warm, well-cooked breakfast, which the 
girls took especial pride in preparing, they left 
their homes, humming the latest street tune. The 
contractors saw the change; the men did better 
work, requiring less oversight, and so they could 
raise low wages, which they did. But better 
wages would not answer if the men spent the in¬ 
crease in rum. 

This the bishop made plain to them in his practi¬ 
cal talks at the reading room. Rum was a leak, and 
the fullest barrel would empty itself in time. This 
the average man saw and acknowledged, but went 
on drinking nevertheless, so the bishop saw the 
necessity of something else to meet the situation. 
These men must not be exposed to temptation. 
One day he had a visit from a legislator, and he 
saw his opportunity. He took his friend by the 
arm, and walked him through the narrow streets, 
160 


and showed him the condition of things. “ Listen 
to that quarrel,—that is rum. See that neglected 
child,—that is rum. See that scanty furniture,— 
that is rum. See that broken-down constitution,— 
that is rum.” The legislator sighed and once 
quietly muttered, ‘‘And I voted for the sale of 
this.” Ai saw the leaven was at work, and then 
took his man into other courts and by-ways, and 
pointed out the saloons on every corner and the 
kettles going and coming. The legislator stopped 
and made a note'in his book. 

While this was going on, the learned bishop of 
Roundtop was busy at home in his luxurious study, 
polishing off the sentences of his sermon on the 
evils of strong drink. The selfsatisfied congrega¬ 
tion said it was ably delivered, and then went 
home to their wine-dinners. But here was a bishop 
who knew that a great deal of the evil of this 
world existed because of the ignorance of men. 
The prophet of old said, “ My people do not con¬ 
sider." They must be made to consider. And 
therefore the bishop took his friend for a walk, if 
possible, to make him consider. It is useless, he 
thought, to appeal to these poor men through the 
reason ; they will agree to all you say, and then 
continue in their evil ways. We must remove 
temptation, and treat this evil as we would any 
other evil, pernicious to society. The cholera, in 
11 161 


its most virulent form, is not such a menace to 
society, as are intoxicating liquors. And the 
proper way to begin is to apply legislation ; back 
of that Ai saw the necessity of stimulating the in¬ 
telligence of the legislator. An appeal to reason 
is almost fruitless. Men drink because opportunity 
is offered. They have not even the incentive of a 
liking for it. They evidence their distaste by their 
grimaces, and then go on and drink for the sake 
of the good fellowship. They are taken in the 
net of opportunity; and therefore the bishop 
sought to remove the sources of temptation. At 
the same time he set up a counter action in the 
home life, and tried in various ways to make 
pleasant the surroundings of the poor man. The 
new tenements attracted considerable attention, 
and he had arranged for the erection of another 
block in a neglected portion of the city. 

In the meantime the rector of St. John’s had had 
his alterations made, and was finding himself over¬ 
run with boys and girls, who became interested in 
the readings on social science and the art of living 
humanely together. He had contracted for a gymna¬ 
sium to be erected on the corner of the vacant lot 
in front of the church. 

Impey was also hard at work, and had attracted 
to himself a goodly company of men, who could 
not accept the old interpretations, and the various 
162 


and conflicting creeds \ and who sought a freer 
atmosphere, and a basis upon which to stand, 
which most of them thought, was that of right 
conduct. Impey was puzzled by those men who 
glibly said their prayers and left their gas bills un¬ 
paid. Those devotees were enigmas, who bent 
the knee under gothic arches, and at the same 
time had men in their pay who legally were squeez¬ 
ing hearts’ blood into their cup of joy. He sought 
to widen the platform of ethical conduct, and 
thought it the basis upon which a happy society 
must meet. And opportunities for helpfulness 
were coming to Esther in profusion. Her house 
had been a stopping place for sailors for a genera¬ 
tion past, and they had not learned of the change 
of tenants, so they came as usual. Esther had fur¬ 
nished the front room in a plain and substantial 
manner, that the men might not feel ill at ease on 
account of its daintiness, and had placed there 
plenty of writing material, and a few books, charts, 
and maps. Upon a small table was constantly 
served a lunch. This was for the free use of the 
sailors, and she encouraged them to use it. 

It afforded her an excellent opportunity to be¬ 
come acquainted with these interesting men and 
their daring lives, and she embraced it. She was 
in communication with a house close by, where 
they could be lodged and boarded. She had her 
163 


veranda open out from the room through spacious 
windows, where the men delighted to . congre¬ 
gate; for these men of the sea loved the open 
air and confinement seemed oppressive. It was 
on this veranda that she often took counsel with 
them. They told her that it was almost impos¬ 
sible to have a sailor’s wrongs redressed, and they 
could speak to her freely on that veranda, as 
they could not to a professional righter of wrongs. 
They could not get a hearing,—that was the dif¬ 
ficulty. As a rule they were in a foreign land, 
among strangers, no one cared for them, and he 
fights a lonely fight who fights alone. They 
could not speak the language, frequently ; and 
this was another difficulty. Then came the mat¬ 
ter of money ; sailors had little of that; and he 
who contends for his rights empty-handed will 
come out a disappointed man. “ We cannot pay 
the price of your justice,” said a tar to her one 
day. Justice was a matter that must be bought, 
it appeared to him. “ You have so much money 
and you get so much justice ; you have no money, 
and you get no justice. It is like buying a coat, 
it is long or short according to the price you pay.” 
But the law’s delays,—the postponements, the re- 
ferrings, the reports, the arguments, the reargu¬ 
ments, and then the decision held under advise¬ 
ment,—it made these men of the sea, sick. Fre- 
164 


quently they could not sail because the case was 
pending. A pending case,—that weird inhuman 
something from which have sprung,—how many ? 
—insanities in the world. To rovers on the wide 
waters,—the beautiful firmament above and the 
pure breezes, the most generous of nature’s gifts 
—this wading through the slush of the courts, with 
their narrowness, contractedness, and obstructive 
methods, was all so stifling and little, that they 
rather suffered wrongs than sought redress. But 
they could talk to Esther. “You do not ask 
us for a retainer before we begin, and after we are 
well under sail you do not demand a refresher,” 
one said to her. Their wrongs were poured into 
her ears, and after careful sifting, intelligent legis¬ 
lation was brought about to make these wrongs 
impossible. She was the champion of the sail¬ 
or , the man who fights storms, plows waters, 
dares darkness, and defies cold,—all this, that 
you may see the wonders of travel, may secure 
your luxuries from foreign lands and may lull 
yourself to sleep in the amenities. These bronzed 
men were interesting to her and she was as proud 
of the awkward shake of the roug'h horny hand 
that made hers ache, as she was of that of the 
most gallant of beaux. And so it was understood 
that all former occupants of those rooms must still 
come there, and she had her daily receptions. 

i 6 5 


The men told her of the various national sailors’ 
costumes, and she varied her dress to appeal to 
these national feelings. 

One day she looked into the matter of sailors’ 
lodgings. They were filthy and overrun with 
vermin. She took counsel with the bishop. 
“ They have a church, I understand, especially 
built for them, to care for their souls; it were time 
to reverence their bodies,” remarked the prelate. 
One evening he slipped into the church at Swan¬ 
son and Catharine Streets, and sat by the door. 
Some one came to him, shook him cordially by 
hand, asked him whether he had just gotten into 
port, and invited him to come farther front. No, 
he would rather sit where he was, near the door 
where he could get the air. He counted the gas 
jets, the number of sittings, and took the dimen¬ 
sions of the empty spaces, and surveyed the dec¬ 
orations on the walls. “ Nearly all wasted, gas, 
speech, and all,” he said to himself as he slipped 
out of the door. “ Even if the sailors were there, 
their chief concern seems to be with their souls, 
while it would seem they needed aid to keep to¬ 
gether, and pure, their poor bodies.” This he 
said as he walked to the other side of the street, to 
get an outside view of the church, and to make a 
mental calculation of how many bricks it might 
contain. As he walked away with his hands 
166 


folded behind his back, he said, ‘‘Well might we 
hold out the promise of a rest hereafter to men who 
are wave-tossed, and have so little of quiet here, if 
their quarters on ship and the beds I have seen are 
a fair sample. This is a mockery and a big farce. 
I will tear it down and will reconstruct.” And he 
kept his word. Esther and Enid laid their plans 
and submitted them for approval. He said, “ Go 
on and do it in your own way ; you are on the 
ground and know its needs; don’t fear that I 
will obstruct enterprise and quench enthusiasm ; 
do not wait for formal approvals. I have approved 
inaction and stagnation long enough, and nothing 
that you may do can possibly be worse than that.” 
This was refreshingly stimulating to these two en¬ 
ergetic and original spirits, and they entered upon 
their work with a breeze. They originated the 
Woman’s Auxiliary of the Churchman’s Mission¬ 
ary Association for Seamen. 

The church was torn to the ground, all but the 
north gable, which remains to this day, a curious 
and impressive monument illustrating the old 
method of holding out comfort to these toilers of 
the sea, as compared with the more enlightened 
plans of saving men. A plain hotel was erected 
on the site. This house occupies only half of the 
church space, concealing and utilizing only half 
of this north chancel gable, leaving the other half 
167 


exposed, showing the frescoes and decorations of 
the old wall. 

The sailors had often turned from the dull words 
of the preacher to the wall, and studied these col¬ 
ors and designs, for diversion during the dreary, 
cold hour. Those decorations have now been 
given to the rain and to the winds, but the storm- 
beaten mariner sits cozily by a warm fire in his 
hotel or sleeps comfortably in his clean bed. This 
gives him a new vision of the brotherhood of man. 
The care of their souls goes on just as before, but 
the sailor does not now look with scornful suspi¬ 
cion upon anyone who seems to be interested in his 
eternal welfare. Simultaneously with the build¬ 
ing of the home, there was erected a church not 
far away. It is a great deal smaller than the old 
one, and there is couched close to it a reading 
room and various other rooms for fostering the so¬ 
cial life of these interesting men of the sea. 

168 


CHAPTER XXI. 


A Day Off. 


We can only have the highest happiness, such as goes along with 
being a great man, by having wide thoughts, and much feeling for the 
rest of the world as well as ourselves : and this sort of happiness 
often brings so much pain with it, that we can only tell it from pain 
by its being what we would choose before everything else, because our 
souls see it is good.— Romola. 


The capacity of the bishop for work was simply 
marvelous, and it was well it was so. Monday 
was his day off, when he wrote no letters and did 
no routine work, but was always at home to re¬ 
ceive visitors, no matter what the object of the 
visit. The first caller on one such day was Impey. 
He had made a collection of precepts and maxims 
which he thought would make a new gospel, 
suitable to be added to the four, should the pre¬ 
lates at anytime be willing to listen to a new 
statement of some very old truths. This collec¬ 
tion was a curious one, gathered from the Koran 
and from the writings of Confucius and Gaudama. 
There were a few, especially fine, he thought, 
from Benjamin Franklin, several from Tennyson, 
one from Whittier, three from Carlyle, and a 
harvest from the philosophers who saw visions at 

169 


Concord. Why should it be thought incredi¬ 
ble that men should some day naturally desire a 
Bible with a supplement. There are better things 
lying around outside, thought Impey, than some 
things inside. The bishop looked over the collec¬ 
tion and thoughtfully gazed into the fire, but said 
nothing. 

Impey of course would not press him for an 
opinion, but when he arose to go, with the manu¬ 
script in his pocket, the bishop asked him to leave 
it,—he would like to look at it more carefully at 
his leisure. 

As Impey passed out, the young rector of St. 
John’s was just coming in with beaming face. The 
lectures on plain every-day justice and the social 
questions of the present day, were a success, and 
the rooms were filled every night. These same 
people came to church as well. They now viewed 
religion in a new light, and worthy of their atten¬ 
tion. They regarded the special services in the 
church as a part of a system for the dissemination 
of truth which was many-sided, and no seeker 
after truth could neglect those sermons. Hitherto 
they avoided church, because they thought it all 
so narrow and one-sided, but now a new vision had 
been given them. They started with a few hard 
facts of this life, and this dispelled the notion that 
the hereafter only was worthy of their considera- 
170 


tion. This was the new view taken ; and there 
was a roundness and common sense about it all 
that seemed to appeal to the every-day men of af¬ 
fairs. They had struck human nature in the right 
spot, when they built those rooms and the gymna¬ 
sium, the young rector maintained ; and he went 
away overjoyed and enthusiastic. The bishop 
called him back and gave him a note to several 
vestrymen, who were contemplating selling and 
moving west after their people, as faithful shep¬ 
herds should. “Go and speak to them and tell 
them of your plans; there is nothing like living 
fire. Kindle the dry wood ; and my blessing go 
with you.” He then tapped him on the shoulder, 
and sent away that young lined face, wreathed in 
smiles. 

Then came Mrs. Airy, who did not seem to 
have any particular business, simply wanted to say 
good morning, and leave her blessing for the 
tired and busy man. She, however, had her little 
pleasantry, which was to the effect that she got 
even with her husband the other night. That 
New Century Club house was a beauty and a suc¬ 
cess. She came home from the club the other 
night, quite late, and met her husband in the hall, 
both in their street wraps. 

“Where have you been, my dear husband ? ” 
171 


“ At the club. And where might you have been 
so late, dearest? ” 

“At the club ! ” 

The bishop thought it good, and laughed like a 
boy; and complimented the taste of the artist who 
designed those pictures on the wall; they were 
very suggestive, he thought, and indicative of the 
lofty and pure aims of this association of noble and 
high-minded women. There was a volume in 
those representations of Science, Art, and Labor, 
bringing their contributions to the world’s ad¬ 
vancement. He would like to belong to that club. 
Mrs. Airy looked at the prelate archly, and shook 
her finger. 

‘‘And Bishop, I wish to enter my little protest 
against the doings of Mr. Impey. He has in¬ 
duced my daughter to help him in his work, 
and is, I fear, having a great deal of influ¬ 
ence over her. She reads on Monday evenings to 
a room full of boys; and the motto on their ban¬ 
ner reads, “ The world is my country ; to do good 
is my religion,”—an invention of Impey’s, no 
doubt. I don’t believe there is such a verse in 
the Bible; I never saw it.” 

Ai shook with uncontrollable laughter; and 
then said a good word for Impey. He asked how 
the young couple were getting on in their new 
172 


home, and added a few pleasant words as Mrs. 
Airy swept out of the room. 

The man who sometimes acted as his secretary, 
next claimed his attention. Ai’s capacity for work 
has already been alluded to. He expected others 
to work as well. 

“ I want you,” said he, “ to draw up for me 
a report of the parochial schools of the diocese, 
the number of pupils, the nature of instruction 
given, the progress attained, and a comparison 
with the municipal schools, with such other facts 
as may seem useful; and you will kindly bring 
me the report this evening .” 

The man was stupefied, and looked pleadingly 
up into the face of the bishop. There were fully 
one hundred schools with perhaps ten thousand 
pupils, scattered over a wide area. Seeing his em¬ 
barrassment, Ai added, “Well, I ask perhaps too 
much ; bring me the report to-morrow .” 

There were two others waiting to see the bishop. 
Esther had a piece of good news. A poor sailor’s 
wrongs had been redressed. The case had been 
pending for two years, but a victorious decision 
had just been handed down. It had cost Esther 
and her friends a pretty penny, but they thought it 
was the triumph of a just cause that must be looked 
at. The poor man, it is true, had died in the 
meantime, but justice had been done. 

173 


“How long did you say it had been pend¬ 
ing?” 

“Two years. He made twenty voyages in the 
meantime ; looked after the case every time he 
came into port; and died at sea, without learn¬ 
ing that justice had been done him.” 

“ How many cases have you had? ” asked Ai. 

“ This is the only one.” 

“Then do not undertake another. Your sweet 
unshaken faith is priceless. Don’t take risks at a 
game where you may lose.” 

Esther looked a little dubious, and left with a 
thought running through her mind. 

Then came a man with a grievance,—a tale of a 
church quarrel. Ai’s heart sank within him. 
Nothing saddened him so much as this sinning of 
persons of otherwise blameless lives, who join 
church quarrels, which enlist the fiercest passions, 
and arm for wordy warfare men and women who 
in their daily ways are quiet, peaceable, and 
kind. The desecration of sacred interests is noth¬ 
ing compared with the question of victory. 

“My good man,” said Ai, “in patience and 
meekness will be your strength. We must not con¬ 
tend. We must make church quarrels unpopular, 
and brand as unworthy all who engage in them. 
The world is becoming kinder, and less bitter; 

174 


and church quarrels are not a part of the king¬ 
dom of good-will.” 

So Ai would counsel, and would even go to 
those who were mostly aggrieved, and would pour 
oil upon the troubled waters. He never had any 
outbreak or any public settlement of petty spites, 
as he said he found these quarrels invariably to 
be. 

Following was a gentleman whom he did not 
know, but who introduced himself as Mr. Midas, 
and was at once recognized as a prosperous mer¬ 
chant. He wanted the bishop’s advice with re¬ 
gard to an outing and dinner he proposed giving 
to the poor on Labor Day. He had heard the 
district was largely tenanted by the poor. The 
bishop looked him over as he told of his plans, 
and made a mental note of his man. He stirred 
the fire, and then sat down on the other side, 
and encouraged the man to speak. He was a 
talkative person, and went on without stopping, 
and Ai was a good listener. The bishop then went 
over and closed the window, and had a view of 
the back of his head, and then sat down. But he 
soon got up again, and stood with his back to the 
fire and got a full view of the man’s face. This 
man was not a subject for office treatment, and 
needed skillful management. These slums were 
moral- pestholes, Mr. Midas believed, and it re- 
175 


quired a good deal of courage to live here, he 
thought, and the bishop deserved credit for his 
pains in trying to elevate the degraded poor ; but 
he thought it almost useless, and a thankless work. 
They were of no benefit to anybody, and he be¬ 
lieved in letting the matter take its course, and in 
allowing the weaklings to die out. Still, he was 
willing to contribute his share to any philanthropy, 
and he had come to see about that very thing, and 
wanted the bishop’s suggestions as to the Labor 
Day airing and the feast. It must do them a little 
good, anyway. 

The bishop opened the window again, and then 
asked Midas whether he had ever seen the neigh¬ 
borhood,—perhaps he would like to walk out. 
They walked out arm in arm and had some diffi¬ 
culty in keeping together; the crowds were filling 
the pavements on their way home from work. 
“These streets seem to need drainage,” said the 
merchant as he leaped a pool. They turned into 
a narrow street and witnessed a quarrel between 
two teamsters who had come in from opposite direc¬ 
tions ; the street being only wide enough for one 
wagon. It served also as a drain and was very 
filthy. One of the teamsters nodded to the mer¬ 
chant; he had driven that way to get a lunch and 
also to deliver a package. He lived there. As 
they passed up the street they saw the teamster’s 
176 


door, and noticed a thin woman with a babe that 
seemed sick. They were the teamster’s wife and 
child. There was a pool of soapy water before 
the door and a small boy was fishing in it. At 
the corner they met a pale girl with refined 
features who boarded in the street, and as she 
passed she bowed to the merchant. Farther down 
they turned into a similar narrow street and the 
merchant bowed to two men who sat on their door¬ 
steps, and who were neatly clad like business-men. 
They had just gotten home and seemed surprised 
to see the merchant. Through an open door he 
saw a little girl who came to the door with a 
pitcher, and then went back again and told the 
mother, who also came to the door to see the 
bishop and the man. As they passed out of the 
street they looked back and saw a row of heads 
protruding from the windows and doors, gazing in 
wonder at the two men. Turning into a little 
court they saw an elderly woman, with gray, well- 
kept hair and neat dress, who was opening a door 
with a latch key. 

The merchant bowed and the woman smiled. 
Just then an awkward man with black hands came 
along and let himself in at the next door but one. 
He also seemed to know the merchant. Ai 
thought he knew the neighborhood well, but 
12 177 


the merchant seemed to know everybody too; 
and he began to think about the matter. 

“Have these people lived here long, these to 
whom I have spoken, I mean ? ” 

“As long as I have been here,” replied Ai. 
“ You seem to recognize some of them.” 

“ Yes,” replied the merchant confusedly. 

“They are all poor people,” continued Ai, 
“ working at miserably low wages, and trying in 
all sorts of ways to eke out a living. They crowd 
into small houses to meet the rents, and take 
boarders to make up the loss coming through sick 
bread-winners. The children who ought to be at 
school, are cash-girls and errand-boys; and the 
aged go out regularly to toil, long past the time 
when work should cease and a pension begin.” 
“They seem to be quite respectable too ; their 
door-knobs are bright and windows clean,” said 
the merchant. 

“Yes,” answered Ai, “ you will be surprised to 
see the respectability that you will find in some of 
these streets. 

“In a court within a court, lives a refined man 
with his lovely wife and child, who are trying to 
keep clean there, and find it hard indeed, but they 
cannot better themselves with the low wages he is 
receiving. They keep up a respectable appear¬ 
ance as to dress, for business purposes, but it makes 
178 




my heart ache to see them wade those gutters to 
their home. The struggles of the respectable poor, 
in the midst of such surroundings, is one of the 
pathetic things in life. There are some who love 
dirt and seem to be born to it; but the tragedies 
of life are seen in these refined and sensitive souls 
who are crowded to the wall and move into such 
quarters, who yet cling to some thread of hope, 
and are marked by their dress, some bright door¬ 
knob, or curtained window, close by the pool of 
filth, and neighbors to the coarsest of human kind. 
There is a strong belief among them that there 
will come a day of judgment; and to me there 
seems a fitness in the thought. Some one will be 
called to account for this state of things, and there 
will be an evening up some day. So these poor 
people think, and it gives them hope.” 

“But you do not believe in an equal distribu¬ 
tion of wealth, do you?” timidly asked the mer¬ 
chant. 

“ It is scarcely necessary to go so far in 
our consideration,” replied Ai. 

“These people are capable of making a very 
little go a great way,—that is evident; but when 
they lack that little, there is a great injustice 
somewhere ; they ought at least have the neces¬ 
saries of life, not to speak of luxuries.” The tail 
merchant looked thoughtfully down upon the little 
179 


man. “You see here,” continued Ai, “ the pil¬ 
lars of our commercial and industrial world,—the 
men who build our railroads, manufacture goods 
and sell them; in fact every useful work is sup¬ 
ported and upheld by these little props which find 
their base deep down in these wretched streets and 
courts. We ought to see to it that it is solid 
ground and not mud into which these props are 
sunk.” 

They then went through a few more streets and 
courts on their way back to the bishop’s house. 
“There are plenty of poor, you see, who will no 
doubt be glad for the outing, and when you get 
ready, send the tickets to me and I will distribute 
them.” - - 1 ' 

The merchant fingered a paper-cutter nervously, 
and said he had not yet completed all the arrange¬ 
ments, and he would come and see the bishop 
again about it; and then arose to go. On the way 
out they went through a room which had just been 
enlarged. Here the bishop taught boys, the first 
use of simple tools. With the help of these boys 
he had made most of the simple furniture of his 
room. “It is a great thing to have boys learn 
trades; and it is sometimes a little thing that turns 
a boy from a life of vagabondage to a trade, that 
will yield him a livelihood. Many a young man 
hails me from a scaffold or roof, who learned to 
180 


drive his first nail in this room. Such matters are 
worth our attention. We must learn to hit the nail 
on the head every time,” roguishly added the bishop. 
They had reached the corner of the street, to which 
the bishop had accompanied the merchant, when 
Midas turned, and laying his hand on the little 
bishop’s shoulder, paused for a time, and then 
slowly said, “You have hit the nail squarely this 
time.” The bishop knew'what he had aimed at 
when he first met this man, and he saw that he 
had accomplished his object. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

A Day of Judgment. 


The age is dull and mean. Men creep, 

Not walk ; with blood too pale and tame 
To pay the debt they owe to shame ; 

Buy cheap, sell dear ; eat, drink, and sleep, 

Down pillowed, deaf to moaning want ; 

Pay tithes for soul-insurance ; keep 
Six days to Mammon, one to Cant. 

— Whittier. 


The next morning Midas the merchant was early 
at his place of business. The clerks soon began 
to arrive, and he stood by the door where a man 
checked them off as they passed in. Almost the 
first to arrive were two women who had been seen 

181 


in the narrow street, the old woman with fine gray 
hair and the girl with refined features. Then fol¬ 
lowed a number of people whose names the mer¬ 
chant did not know, nor where they lived. His 
time-keeper, however, knew. Then came another 
group, and the little girl who had carried a pitcher 
was recognized; she was one of the cash-girls. 
There were a number of cash-girls -; they all looked 
alike, all had the same pinched features, and he 
wondered whether they came from similar streets. 
Then a few men clerks were checked off, and two 
of them had been seen the evening before at their 
doors. These men all seemed to have one marked 
appearance, an indefinable look of disappointment 
and quiet submissiveness to a crushing fate. Where 
did these men live; did they all come from simi¬ 
lar streets and houses ? Still they came ; and the 
merchant had a thoughtful look as he stood chained 
to the spot, closely scanning each face, and mak¬ 
ing his mental notes. He saw the last girl checked 
off and then asked how many were employed, all 
told. There were just one hundred. 

He took his morning paper and went to his cozy 
office in the rear, which opened out upon a bright 
little grass plot, which he took pride in keeping 
closely clipped with a sharp mower. It gave him 
exercise and he loved to cut it clean and close. 
He seemed to apply to the yard the same princi- 
182 


pies he carried out in his business. He looked 
out, but felt nervous, and turned his chair and 
leaned both elbows on his desk. 

The words of the bishop were troubling him. 
He thought of these props and pillars, and saw 
how they were sunk in mud. He had seen one 
hundred persons file past him, not one of whom 
could be spared, anyone of whom could cause dis¬ 
turbance and shake the whole house should he be 
absent or fail in his duty. The woman with gray 
hair had held up the millinery department for 
twenty years; and he had made a little fortune 
from that department alone. One of those men 
had served ten years, —the best years of his life ; 
and he could not be spared, even should he de¬ 
mand twice the sum he was getting. Then he 
thought of the mud in which these props were 
resting. He wondered whether it was sound busi¬ 
ness policy to pinch the workers, when they might 
do better work if they were more easy in their cir¬ 
cumstances. He went over the whole ground of 
business follies that were daily enacted. He 
acted wisely with his horses, which were kept 
fat and strong that they might do better work. 
Finer teams than his could not be seen on the 
street; and he took especial pride in outdoing the 
firm across the way, whose poorly fed animals 
looked over at his with pitiful horse envy, as the 

183 


wagons were being loaded. Then he thought of 
the pinched faces of the cash-girls, and of the 
uncomplaining clerks in their threadbare dress. 
His brain was on fire, and he walked out and 
sat in a red arm-chair, and looked at the closely 
cropped grass-plot. “ That is just what I am 
doing,” thought he. He had cropped every man, 
woman, and child, down to the lowest point; 
and they were driven to their wretched streets. 
These pillars were sunk in mud, and he was 
building up for himself a fortune, high above 
these foundations. 

Just then a young girl wished to see the head 
of the firm. He saw her, and then returned to 
his seat. That girl might have been hired for 
wages lower than he was paying. It was neces¬ 
sity that forced her to sell so cheaply. That 
was just it; he took advantage of men’s necessi¬ 
ties, and thoughts of righteous dealing never en¬ 
tered into his business code. The ship was on 
fire, and sinking,—why not take their all, which 
the wretched beings were willing to give, if he 
should float alongside and rescue them. Not a 
thought of humanity prompted him to take a sin¬ 
gle man on board unless he gave all, as in his ne¬ 
cessity he would do. 

Then he thought of the outing, and he laughed 
bitterly at the thought. “I practice injustice all 
184 


the year round, and then try to wipe out the score 
by an excursion or a Christmas turkey,” he mut¬ 
tered as he folded his hands and turned his face 
thoughtfully toward the fish-pond. He saw him¬ 
self reflected in the water, and he immediately 
turned his chair. He then went into the office 
and got the books. The addresses were all the 
same—little streets of which he had never heard. 

A few were on principal streets, but in boarding¬ 
houses, he knew, packed to the roof, where strict 
economy was a ruling necessity. He then ran 
down the list of names—these pillars of his busi¬ 
ness ; he had made a fortune, and by no other 
way than by resting on these props. Every man 
had as much brain as he had, and many exercised 
more energy than he did. There were one hun¬ 
dred and one—the clerk had made a mistake. 
The man who cropped the grass close noticed a 
mistake. He then recollected that one had died, 
and that made one hundred. The clerk was after 
all worthy of his business respect. 

Then he went into the accounts. 

How much did the house clear above all ex¬ 
penses,—absolutely clear for his purse? 

Seventy-five dollars a day ; this was the average 
for three jears back. He then closed his eyes for 
a long time, and seemed to be asleep. 

He arose and walked the floor. He resolved to 

185 


reserve twenty-five dollars a day for himself, and 
to distribute the remaining fifty dollars, every day, 
evenly, among one hundred people—the people 
who brought him this income. He had intended 
to spend fifty dollars upon a feast for one hundred 
persons; but why not do this every day, he 
thought; and why not give it to the persons them¬ 
selves, and let each one spend it in his own way. 
There was no question as to his ability; the books 
and his investments showed that. He was able 
and he was also willing. He would have one 
grand daily distribution all the year round. It 
would be one continuous Christmas cheer all the 
year through. He walked into the garden in an 
exalted state of mind. He saw a happy beaming 
face reflected in the pond; and sat down and 
cried with nervous excitement. 

Then he stopped suddenly, and thought for a 
moment whether this was not folly, whether it was 
not unbusiness-like. These people had not asked 
it; they were willing ; he forced nobody ; they 
rather were obliged to him for giving them posi¬ 
tions. Were his resolves based upon a sound com¬ 
mercial policy, and did anyone else do it ? 

He ran over in his mind the rows of business 
houses ; but in none of them was this thing done; 
and his resolves for a daily distribution of fifty 
186 


dollars to one hundred persons, who brought him 
this gain, were knocked out of his brain. 

As he sat down in his red chair, he again saw 
his likeness in the smooth surface of the pond ; 
he then arraigned himself before himself. That 
was the man in his private life ; here sat the busi¬ 
ness man in this red chair. The private man was 
kind, upright, just, a model father, and a sup¬ 
porter of religion and charities. The business 
man took more than he needed. The business 
man took advantage of men’s necessities. The 
business man kept the earnings of others. The 
business man subscribed to charities and paid them 
out of these withheld earnings. The business 
man knew nothing of the condition of the props 
of his business. Here was a man with two 
moralities —one for private life and one for busi¬ 
ness purposes. But he noticed that when he 
moved in his chair the man in the pond moved 
also. The little fishes in the pond seemed to 
touch the man in his private life, and the turtle 
was creeping under his long beard. It gave him 
an unpleasant sensation. Possibly after all they 
were one and the same person. Possibly he was 
playing a part. Was it when at home, or was it 
while at business ? Which was the actor and 
which was the real man ? When was he his own, 
true, and highest self? He buried his face in his 
187 


hands and tried to turn his chair, but he seemed 
petrified and found himself again looking into the 
pond. The bishop was right; there would come 
a day of judgment; perhaps it had already come 
to him. 

Then he thought of the cheer the feast would 
give to the families of the poor; and close follow¬ 
ing came the vision of a perennial feast; and he 
again saw the reflection of a happy face. 

He then went into another calculation. One 
hundred times fifty cents a day would amount to a 
goodly sum in a few years. He might endow a 
bed in a home, or even build a whole asylum. 
Would not that be commendable ? If he saved 
this fifty cents which the girl had not asked, he 
could do this charitable deed. “ But,” said he, 
as he caught in the water the look of a serious 
face, “ If I give the little girl her fifty cents now, - 
she will not become a magdalen. If I give now, 

I need not do so hereafter; and then also there 
will be the saving of womanhood.” But the busi¬ 
ness aspect of the matter obtruded itself most per¬ 
sistently. No one else did it, he thought; and 
how would it be viewed by the common sense of 
the business world ? This thought pinned him to 
his chair,—a shrivelled object of pitiful misery. 
Here was a strange psychological subject,—a man 
who was willing to give the difference between 
188 


twenty-five and seventy-five dollars every day to 
his business props, but who dreaded to have his 
friends know it. This dread was not born of 
modesty, .nor of humility, but of a proud fear of 
being thought unbusiness-like. He fell, from 
sheer exhaustion, into a deep sleep,—how long he 
knew not; and when he arose he saw the blood¬ 
shot eyes and pale face of a sick man. 

He arose and went to the bishop. Ai was not 
in his room, he was in the Church ; and Midas 
went there, and found him after service, still 
robed in his purple cassock, with the silver cord, 
from which the diamonds had been taken. 

The afternoon sun, shining through the stained 
window, made unusually clear the picture of the 
Nazarene, bearing a heavy cross; and in this 
light they talked earnestly and long. When they 
left the Church, the bishop was heard to say, “ We 
ought to be generous, but we must be just. Gen¬ 
erosity cannot take the place of justice. Justice is 
what this great hungry world is aching for; and 
when the simple lesson of justice has been learned, 
there will be no necessity for that which now 
passes for generosity.” 

At the end of the week, Midas ordered that each 
of the one hundred employees should have an 
extra fifty cents per day put into the envelope; 
and this conscientious business man for a long 
189 


time went through little by-streets to and from his 
business, and crept into his office by a back door, 
afraid of meeting the business kings of the city. 
He, however, lived his own quiet life of just do¬ 
ing. He had intended to build a church in 
memory of a departed one; but Ai said he would 
rather see fifty houses erected on a side street, now 
covered with rookeries; these homes should become 
the sources of sweet and helpful influences toward 
a rational, sane, and just living. 

The politicians said, look after the primaries. 
The homes, Ai said, were the primaries which all 
good citizens must look after if there was to be a 
pure and high order of society. Within twenty-four 
hours, Enid Burr was at work drawing plans for 
fifty tenements. 


190 



CHAPTER XXIII. 


Read. 

What do you read, my lord ? 

Words, woi'ds, words !— Shakespeare. 

1. —Panatipataweramanisikkhapadangsamadiyami. 

2. -Adinnadanaweramanisikkhapadangsamadiya- 

mi. 

3. —Abrahmachariyaweramanisikkhapadangsamad- 

iyami. 

4. —Musawadaweramanisikkhapadangsamadiyami. 

5. —Suramerayamajjapamadatthanaweramanisikkh- 

apadangsamadiyami. 

6. —Wikalabhojanaweramanisikkhapadangsamadi- 

yami. 

7. —Nachagitawaditawisukadassanaweramanisikkh- 

apadangsamadiyami. 

8. —Malagandhawilepanadharanamandanawibhusa- 

nattanaweramanisikkhapadangsamadiyami. 

9. —U ch’ hasayanamahasayanaweraman isikkhapad - ’ 

angsamadiyami. 

10. — Jataruparajatapatiggahanaweraraanisikkhapa- 

dangsamadiyami. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

A Conception of the Truth. 

God sends His teachers unto every age, to every clime, and every 
race of men, with revelations fitted to their growth and shape of mind, 
nor gives the realm of Truth into the selfish rule of one sole race ; 
therefore each form of worship that hath swayed the life of man, and 
given it to grasp the master key of knowledge, reverence, infolds 
some germs of goodness and of right.— Lowell. 

While Esther was devoting herself to the inter¬ 
ests of the sailor, and Enid was drawing plans for 
the tenements, and Ai was bringing men of different 
planes into sympathetic relations, it seemed to be 
the work of Impey to make men see that truth is 
many-sided, and that the little rills flow from many 
and opposite mountain-sides, and joining, form one 
broad river of truth. “ Do not try to sail on the 
little rill,” he said to his lady patrons as they 
waited. Impey’s work grew daily more into pop¬ 
ular favor,—no one made shoes like Impey, and 
no one talked like him. The Reviews were regu¬ 
larly read, and their contents given freely, in a di¬ 
gested form, to all who applied ; and the room at 
number 3 Chancery Lane was always crowded 
about the tenth day of the month. 

His work at the church he had purchased be¬ 
came a force in the community. He opened a 
kindergarten for very small children, and a read- 

192 



ing room to compete with the drinking saloons of 
the neighborhood. In the evening he met various 
classes, who pursued different lines of study. 
Adaptation to the wants of the times was a ruling 
idea, and it colored all his methods of work. 
There were men of noble impulses who found lit¬ 
tle to attract in the prevailing forms of religion,, 
and in the creeds as commonly interpreted. These 
forces, he thought, ought to be gathered; and so 
he hung out on a board, one day, the following 
statement: — 

A purer, higher form of Christian¬ 
ity is needed, such as will approve it¬ 
self to men of profound thinking and 
feeling, as the real spring and most 
efficacious instrument of moral eleva¬ 
tion, moral power, and disinterested 
love. 

This attracted wide attention, and there gathered 
a representative class of men—college professors, 
physicians, writers, scientists, and a thoughtful 
class of working men. They had long ago ceased 
going to the churches, because of the unreasona¬ 
ble things they heard, and because there was a to¬ 
tal lack of scientific treatment of the most inter¬ 
esting subject that commanded the attention of 
thoughtful men ; namely, the morals of the world. 
Here they seemed to see a platform wide enough 
13 x 93 



to meet upon, where they would be permitted to 
investigate Christianity. There was a higher form 
of Christianity, which would imply that there was 
also a lower. Impey called this lower form, a 
Christianity with accretions; and he tried to find 
which was pure, and which was alloy among the 
metals. His mind was free and open,—not antag¬ 
onistic to any truth, but receptive, and willing to 
take in light, no matter from what source. One 
day he pasted upon the board these ten command¬ 
ments. 

—And as you are a person of considerable learn¬ 
ing, you will please turn back to the twenty-third 
chapter and follow in the original: — 

1. Thou shalt not kill. 

2. Thou shalt not steal. 

3. Thou shalt not commit adultery. 

4. Thou shalt not lie. 

5. Thou shalt not be drunken. 

6. Thou shalt not eat to excess. 

7. Thou shalt not be frivolous. 

8. Thou shalt not be vain. 

9. Thou shalt not vaunt thyself. 

10. Thou shalt not be avaricious. 

—Come and let us consider these 

teachings of Buddha, and see what 

truths they contain that will aid us to 

live a life of true justice. 

194 


The effect was marvellous. The church was 
filled, and Impey spoke on these four points: — 

1. In these teachings of Buddha, you are disillu¬ 

sioned of the thought that any one religion 
has a monopoly of truth. 

2. In these teachings of Buddha, you have a very 

old religion. It existed at least six hundred 
years before Jesus was born. Thirty genera¬ 
tions lived and died in this light. Where are 
they ? 

3. While nine of these commandments of Buddha 

are reflected in Christianity, and undoubtedly 
shaped it; the fifth commandment marks 
Buddhism as the superior of the two religions. 
Christianity undoubtedly approves of the use 
of intoxicating liquors. 

4. We must seek the truth and let it shape our con¬ 

duct,—no matter from what source it comes. 
For one month Buddhism became the ruling 
idea. Those who did not know Impey, said the 
church was converted into a Buddhist temple, and 
that Impey was a Buddhist priest. They visited 
his room, where they were informed that Buddhism 
never had priests,—every man was his own priest. 
There was an order of monks, which was simply a 
class who adopted these rules of life, especially the 
last five. The first five were for general observ¬ 


ance. 


195 


The effect was good. It broadened the narrow¬ 
minded. They saw that high moral teaching came 
from some very unexpected sources. 

The next month he covered the teachings of 
Buddha with these words : — 

Blessed are the poor in spirit. 

Blessed are the forlorn. 

Blessed are the meek. 

Blessed are they which seek the right. 

Blessed are the merciful. 

Blessed are the pure-hearted. 

Blessed are the peace-makers. 

Blessed are the misunderstood. 

Blessed are the reviled. 

This brought out still greater numbers. Some 
thought it an expansion of Buddhism. 

“No,” said Impey, ‘‘this is the teaching of Jesus, 
—in my estimation a very much-forgotten man. 

“The Christian religion is quite old, and con¬ 
tains many truths. No doubt you have also heard 
many things attributed to Jesus which he never 
taught,—base slanders, propagated to-day by mis¬ 
taken persons in their zeal, which is not accord¬ 
ing to knowledge. We must separate the accre¬ 
tions from the real teachings of the man. You 
will know the truth by its reasonableness. I have 
an idea that his enemies made him say and do, in 
books, many things, merely to bring him into re- 
196 


proach, and to make this lovely character appear 
unlovely and unreasonable. I believe it was an 
enemy, for instance, who would have it appear 
that he encouraged the use of intoxicating liquors. 
I believe Jesus was as high-minded as Buddha in 
that respect, and that he would not suffer himself 
to lose by camparison with Buddha. 

£< We must rescue this much slandered name, and 
his religion, and not suffer them to be held in con¬ 
tempt by thoughtful men. Many of you have 
turned away from Christian teaching, simply be¬ 
cause you have been misinformed. It is one of 
the great religions of the world, and is worthy of 
your most careful consideration. 

“ Let us get to the bottom of this matter, and see 
who this Jesus really was, and what he taught. I 
believe if Jesus were to appear to-day, he would 
drive from their pulpits, with a whip, many who 
teach in his name. Some he would excuse be¬ 
cause of their youth, they never having really 
thought, but merely with good intentions, followed 
in well-trodden paths, because conventional.” 

This forever cleared up the question whether or 
not Impey was on the side of Christianity. It was 
the accretions which he rejected. It was the pure 
teaching of Jesus which he upheld. It was the 
caricaturing of this man, by professed followers, 
in their daily practice, that saddened his heart. 

197 


The next month he pasted over everything, 
these seven planks of a platform upon which many 
could perhaps unite : — 

1. The Fatherhood of God, who is 
the most uplifting life of all things. 

2. The brotherhood of man, for 
sympathy and service. 

3. The ceaseless development and 
advance of the human race by strug¬ 
gle and possession, sorrow and joy, 
death and life. 

4. The establishment of the king¬ 
dom of heaven everywhere upon earth. 

5. The unreserved recognition of 
the secular world as containing all 
sacred things. 

6. The unceasing inspiration of man 
by God. 

7. The constant communion of 
kindred spirits in and between the un¬ 
seen and the seen. 

—Let us assimilate what is reasonable, 
and then climb to other heights. 

And thus, Impey maintained, he let in the light. 
He sought to let out the light as well, by welcom¬ 
ing to his pulpit anyone who had a message,—each 
man to be his own judge of the truth. Such an 
array of educators, scientists, authors, and experts 
198 


in various walks of life, have rarely been heard, 
except in Impey’s church. One day he invited a 
noted Ritualist to deliver his truth. “ Would you 
let me speak,” asked the man in surprise, “would 
you let me teach anything I wish ? ” 

“ Anything you wish ; and you may convert all 
of them if you can. If you have truth on your 
lips it ought to prevail,—this is what we are seek¬ 
ing ; if it is error,—it will sink to the bottom and 
will be lost, as it ought.” 

He established active agencies for the changing 
of conditions. One of his most favorite activities 
was to aid and promote emigration from the 
crowded city to the unoccupied lands of the west¬ 
ern states. He was constantly sending boys and 
girls to homes in the country, through the Chil¬ 
dren’s Aid Society, which Mrs. Airy had brought 
to his notice, and which he ardently supported. 
But how did Impey’s Church succeed ? Did it 
grow? To those who were looking for some 
strong, dense organization to spring up and pack 
itself around its central head, he used to say, 
“The cool and sparkling spring .gives out its 
waters, and grows no larger by its liberality of a 
hundred years; but the pool which receives and 
never gives, becomes broad and deep, but also 
foul and rotten.” 

Nothing pleased him so much as to see men 
1 99 


drink of these waters, and then go out and enliven 
the churches, and the homes, and the communities. 
“This is a well of water springing up and mak¬ 
ing everlasting life,” he said. In Impey’s church 
lay the secret that has for half a century been un¬ 
dermining superstition, sectarian narrowness, 
theological cant, and churchly inertia. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

The Ancient Landmarks. 


Remove not the ancient landmarks which thy fathers have set.— 
Proverbs. 


There was one thing that gave the bishop more 
trouble, and caused him more vexation of spirit, 
than all his other responsibilities combined. It 
was what he was pleased to term, the deflections 
of the churches. One day he quietly slipped into 
Old Union Church, so quaintly nestled among the 
business houses on Fourth Street, where it has 
been doing its peculiar work for a long term of 
years. It came near a deflection, but the bishop 
saved it. It was at the close of one of the noon¬ 
day services, that a business meeting of the con¬ 
gregation was called, and the question of removal 
discussed. An Electrical Supply Company had 
200 


offered a tempting sum for the place, and the ques¬ 
tion of a removal to the North-west, where the 
people had gone, was contemplated. A stranger 
got up and spoke earnestly, but not long. He 
pictured the masses of the poor living around the 
Church, in the courts and alleys, and then closed 
with a graphic description of these dead masses 
who needed electrifying to turn them into bright 
lights and useful powers in the life of the commu¬ 
nity ; but the force must be generated here at Old 
Union. 

As he ceased speaking, old men turned around 
and eyed the stranger with suspicion, but all were 
won by his enthusiasm and convinced by his logic. 
No one knew this man, but his words were needed 
and they prevailed. The stranger disappeared as 
mysteriously as,he had come, and Old Union 
Church remained. There was nothing official 
about the matter, only the interest of a member 
of society, who loved to see all forces at work, 
aiding in their own way, the general advance¬ 
ment of the world. 

It was also about that time that the Church of 
the Covenant on Filbert Street, had an offer from 
an express company for its edifice. The com¬ 
pany’s horses needed stabling, and the church 
seemed a convenient place, so a handsome offer 
was' made to these men, who, many years before, 

v20 I 


had formed a solemn covenant, and had conse¬ 
crated this building to high uses. That also 
nearly proved a deflection. The bishop, how¬ 
ever, came upon the scene. He had a little roll 
in his pocket, which he termed a plan of attack, 
and a change of base. He spread it upon a lit¬ 
tle table and explained. The building he divided 
into several stories. On the upper story he had 
two rows of little rooms arranged along a centre 
passage-way. Some of these rooms were no larger 
than a horse’s stall, and would serve as meeting 
places for boys. They must be encouraged to 
unite on some common point of interest. A few 
rooms were for the use of girls who might 
want to organize for self-improvement. “These 
organizations need not necessarily be large in 
numbers,” he said, “ only four or five persons 
perhaps. Let them have an aim. Let this be a 
centre from which shall flow influences into the 
world, helpful and elevating. Do not be afraid of 
failure. As one little circle has done its work, 
let it disband, and let its members unite with some 
other circle in a common interest. This indicates 
growth and development. Make war upon stagna¬ 
tion. Let nothing fossilize. You will still need a 
church for preaching, but it will be a great deal 
smaller than in the past. We will still love talk 
and oratory, but the social forces will shape and 
202 


mould, while oratory and talk will entertain and 
amuse. Do not obliterate your sanctuary, but 
pass through it , to, and from, your active work.” 

In some such way the bishop reasoned and per¬ 
suaded, and his counsel prevailed again. The 
little rooms were built, and the place soon teemed 
with life. Boys and girls organized and took pos¬ 
session ; and there were generated there forces 
which now go out and help along the common 
uplifting of the social fabric. 

There came; one day to the old place a man who 
had there received his first ennobling impressions 
as a boy. He had drifted to California when a 
young man and had made a fortune, and now re¬ 
turned to spend that fortune among the youth 
around the Covenant. He endowed an industrial 
school, and gives the riches of his personal service 
in its furtherance. 

The little ragamuffins who formerly lounged in 
the shadows of the railroad arches, and were led 
into evil ways, have now a place of refuge for 
the training of their powers; and so the world is 
the richer for this resolve to abide by the covenant 
so solemnly made. 

The signs of deflections came in formidable 
numbers. The requirements of trade came to 
Old Scots’ Church, and demanded that sanctuary. 

203 


The bishop hung out his transparency a few even¬ 
ings, and soon crowded the rooms. 

He then invited Mrs. Airy to come and see the 
work. The noises were deafening, and this had 
its desired effect. Mrs. Airy spread the news 
among her friends, and an organization of helpers 
was the result. Ai then left it in their hands and 
devoted himself to other work. Trade next made 
an inroad upon the church at Eleventh and Wood 
Streets. The bishop again hung out his trans¬ 
parency, and soon had the rooms crowded with 
boys and girls. “ But they are only children,” 
said a wise looking official. 

“ They will be men some day; give them a 
chance,” was the bishop’s reply. 

“ But they bring you no gold,” said another. 

“ No one brought gold to the Nazarene that I 
know of, and yet he went on,” was the answer. 

It grieved him to think that his activities were 
not for an advance or aggrandizement, but mainly 
to prevent retreat. 

Occasionally, however, even after the most care¬ 
ful vigilance, some church did retreat without 
his notice. The Clay Mission felt the hoofs of the 
horses before he was aware of it. Some one gave 
as an excuse, that the Church was not adapted to 
such work. “Then have printed on a board, 
‘ This is a church for the ninety and nine just 
204 



persons who need no repentance,’ ” was his reply. 
One day he clipped the following advertisement 
from his paper : “ A one story building, can be 

used for chapel, market-house, or stable. Tasker, 
above 20th.” Those were versatile days. To the 
faint-hearted he would say, “ Look at St. Joseph’s ; 
look at St. Mary’s,—filled with the poor who are 
now more dense in the neighborhood than in the 
days when only one family lived in each spacious 
house. The church has not ceased to be for all 
sorts and conditions of men.” 

And thus the old cencres of activity were re¬ 
tained by the shedding of his heart’s blood. He 
fought persistently and bravely three enemies— 
stagnation, an unwillingness to change the base of 
operations, and a love for the gilded pot in prefer¬ 
ence to the expanding and growing oak in it. He 
conquered the tendencies of the times toward 
empty fashion and material gain. He made plain 
the meaning of pastor, which is one who feeds, 
not one constantly looking to be fed. “ The 
shepherd,” said he, “ is one who has a crook, and 
seems to be devoid of a mouth.” 

205 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


At Home. 

This is life to come. 

Which martyred men have made more glorious 

For us who strive to follow .—George Eliot. 

“ William, will you, before you go out, call up 
Keneseth Israel, and St. Stephen’s;—and William, 
you may also call up the little church across the 
way,—St. Stephen’s may be a little belated, and 
the sermon at the little church can be wedged in.” 

Mrs. Airy preferred staying at home ; she would 
toast her feet, and for diversion listen to the tele¬ 
phone. She arrayed herself in her pale pink 
gown and sank into her wicker chair, the ribbons 
of which she had changed to pale pink. She was 
exquisite in her taste, and her friend Enid should 
notice this, should she come in as she had prom¬ 
ised. She wished to hear what the rector of St. 
Stephen’s had to say about the next step in Chris¬ 
tianity, and so had the telephone placed close to 
her chair before a cheerful fire. As she shifted 
her feet on the fender, she noticed a hole 
in her pink stocking. She tried to read, but did 
not get far into the story, when Enid came in. 
Enid wanted to know where Mrs. Airy got her 
206 


.'x 



stockings; thought the ribbons on the chair 
matched her dress nicely, and regarded her a par¬ 
agon of taste. They both went to the telephone. 
The discourse at the Keneseth Israel was as usual, 
thoughtful and sympathetic, and touched a living 
question of the age. The preacher spoke of Jesus 
as the highest style of man, and Mrs. Airy, who 
had gotten the tubes mixed, thought she was list¬ 
ening to the son of her old pastor, under whom 
she had been indoctrinated in the strictest conven¬ 
tional orthodoxy. 

When the prayers in Hebrew began, Mrs. Airy 
broke the connection. She thought that if the 
time consumed in praying to God, were spent by 
the clergy in beseeching men to do their duty in 
life, its ills would find more prompt amelioration. 
She also wanted to know what language had to do 
with it anyhow, in speaking to God. Prayer, she 
thought, was much like making love. The Choc¬ 
taw chief looks into the soulful eyes of the Japan¬ 
ese maiden, and if he finds favor, they understand 
each other soon and well enough. The language 
of love is the same all the world round, and always 
loses by wording it. 

It was not yet time for the discourse at St. 
Stephen’s, so they discussed the little nothings al¬ 
ways new to women. Enid had taken off her 
shoes and was also toasting her feet on the fender. 

207 


Twice they listened, but the organ had not yet 
ceased. Their feet had not yet been blistered, so 
they put them up again, and Enid thought Mrs. 
Airy a marvel for matching things, even the skin 
which shone through that little rent was pink, 
could scarcely be seen, in fact, so much was it like 
the color of her stocking. 

They might, perhaps, catch the gist of what was 
being said in the little church across the way, 
while St. Stephen’s was getting ready. This 
preacher across the way was always brief and to 
the point; generally condensed his thoughts into 
about half the time the more thoughtless clergy 
took. The preacher across the way was very 
kindly regarded by his regular congregation, and 
his church phone was coming into general demand. 
Impey said, that preacher did not drive into his 
pulpit a cow and a wagon full of hay, but gave 
the condensed cream in a compass small enough 
for the vest pocket. That was the kind of preacher 
busy men and thoughtful people demanded. 

The preacher across the way told his people that 
he had nothing to say this morning. He had been 
away on a vacation and had just come home, and had 
not gotten down to work, and he did not pretend 
that he had anything to say when he had not. He 
would not say anything of his own composing, but 
would read a selection from Emerson, a parable 
208 


reported to have been spoken by Jesus, and a story 
by Hans Christian Andersen. There was a thread 
of related thought running through these selec¬ 
tions, which the congregation would more perfectly 
see on reading them at their leisure. The two 
women had some difficulty in hearing, so they 
found the selections and read them. They marked 
them, and in the evening read them to the chil¬ 
dren at bedtime. The children usually went to 
sleep in church, but they were delighted with the 
parable and the stories from Andersen, and they 
wanted more, and would not go to sleep without 
just one more. They got it, and it left a sanctify¬ 
ing impression upon their minds, such as children 
ought to carry with them when they enter the 
land bordering on annihilation. 

The pulpit at St. Stephen’s this morning, was well- 
regulated, cool and systematic. There were three 
stages through which Christianity had passed, the 
doctrinal, the ecclesiastical, and the experimental; 
and now the next step would be one that would 
find its expression in conduct. The question will 
not be, what is your creed, what the visible 
form of the organization, or how do you feel; but 
what is the life? And the circle of Christianity 
will be so widened as to include these persons of 
right conduct, who to-day form so large a portion 
of the unchurched. 

14 


209 


There was a stir heard in the congregation. 
Mrs. Burr said she heard the rustle of silk, as they 
fidgeted, and even thought she detected the color, 
—it was not garnet and not exactly olive. A 
spirited discussion followed, concerning this mat¬ 
ter of detecting by telephone the color of silk. The 
whole was treated by Mrs. Airy as a Munchausen 
tale. 

“By the way,” said Enid, turning the conver¬ 
sation, “ did you hear of Judge Rue’s resigna¬ 
tion? This is the fourth time he has resigned. 
He says the laws are execrable and need revising.” 

At this juncture, Mr. Airy came in, and sur¬ 
prised the ladies in their stockings. He appeared 
not to notice, and said the bright morning had 
brought out the flowers and the most bewitching of 
costumes. The church seemed to be a conserva¬ 
tory. The ladies of the new family near the pul¬ 
pit had on the most remarkable silks, which he 
could not describe. 

“There, I told you so,” Enid said, indulging 
in gleeful laughter. 

The ladies then told of their discussion, and 
appealed to Mr. Airy. 

Burr, whom Airy had asked home, was brought 
in, and he explained the scientific phenomenon 
of detecting the color of silk by telephone. 
“Science,” said he, “is making great strides. 

210 


The blind can tell colors by touch, but they can 
also be detected by the ear. Color is a property 
affected by texture; as for instance, a finely 
woven basket looks different from one with larger 
meshes. A finely woven piece of goods, differs in 
appearance from one more loosely woven. Hence 
the blind can feel color. But these different text¬ 
ures also give forth different sounds; as for in¬ 
stance, a fine violin string and a thick one give 
forth different sounds. Let fall a plank and a 
splinter, and the sound is different. But as al¬ 
ready said, this difference in texture affects color, 
thus enabling the blind to detect color by touch 
and also by the ear, and hence by telephone.” 

As Burr made these statements, he stood before 
a window looking out upon the lawn, with his 
back turned squarely to the company and both his 
hands in his pockets. They looked at one an¬ 
other, and Airy thought he saw the back of the 
scientist’s ears turn very red. It was a victory 
for Mrs. Burr, who laughed merrily, and Mrs. 
Airy was satisfied with this lucid scientific state¬ 
ment. The next evening Mrs. Airy was astonish¬ 
ing a few gentlemen by a talk on the wonderful 
discoveries of science. She told them of the 
philosophy of detecting the colors of silk by tele¬ 
phone, and the gentlemen thought her a paragon 
of information. 


2 11 


The Burrs remained to dinner. Mr. Airy 
thought Judge Rue’s resignation was the promise 
of something wholesome in the way of just laws. 
He had been elected four times and had sat about 
four weeks, or a week after each election, when he 
was called upon to enter sentences so unjust that 
his righteous soul revolted. He deferred sentence 
and then resigned, and devoted himself to legisla¬ 
tion in favor of more rational and just laws. 

Burr then gave an account of a case which he 
had witnessed. It was an equity case, in which 
their orators prayed that property be virtually at¬ 
tached until an accounting be made. Here Judge 
Rue asked them if they had any proof of missing 
moneys. They had none, but they would proba¬ 
bly find proof in the accounting. 

“So you wish to project a suit, hoping that 
something may develop to justify you ? ” 

The judge then handed the papers back, saying, 
that the days of harassing a man for base ends 
were over in this court. Up to that day, any man 
with a purse could file a bill in equity, without the 
slightest ground, and could put a defendant to 
great expense and an unlimited amount of an¬ 
noyance, and by an adroit wording of the bill 
practically attached the defendant’s property. If 
he was a rival builder, it was perhaps his secret 
design, to embarrass his rival’s property, that he 
212 


might sell his own. After this sharp business 
practice, the petition was withdrawn or if non¬ 
suited, it was of little consequence for him to pay 
costs, as he had done a fine stroke of business. He 
had beaten a rival builder. There was no redress 
for such injustice, and it was done every day to 
annoy an enemy or harass a rival. The judge had 
one such case, and his cheeks burned with shame 
and indignation. He resigned and went to the 
legislature, and had the equity laws brought into 
some decent condition. If a man now brought a 
suit, he was obliged to furnish proof before a grand 
jury, much as in any criminal case. 

“ Make your claim and submit your proof in ad¬ 
vance,” was the judge’s advice. “ I have no time 
to help you carry on your petty business schemes 
by the strong arm of the law.” 

Mrs. Airy here congratulated Mrs. Burr on the 
new acquisition. A young journalist had won 
one of the fairest of the fashionable circle, and 
the bride had selected one of the colonial houses 
as her future home. Journalism, however, had 
been given up for the present, and he was devot¬ 
ing himself to the editing of school-books. His 
soul was tried by the many things he was obliged 
to do to make his paper piquant, to compete with 
the rest. After giving his copy to the printers, he 
usually went home and slept a troubled sleep, and 
213 


in the morning blushed to read his own paper. 
He never let his wife read it, and could not feel 
conscious of doing an elevating work, and yet it 
was just as clean as he could make it, and escape 
loss, on account of competition. 

“I shall never forget,” said Mrs. Airy, “the 
way he arraigned the press last summer. We were 
stopping in a little village where there was a town 
pump, in the middle of a square, to which nearly 
the whole village resorted. Benches were placed 
under the willows, and it was a meeting place for 
women, where gossip was indulged in, and slanders 
and unclean tales were exchanged. 

“We found the faces of these simple rustics a 
study, and their dress was very quaint, so we spent 
a great deal of time under the willows, near the 
town pump. Mr. Poe listened to their personal 
gossip, and said the daily paper took the place of 
the town pump, and he was really ashamed of his 
profession. Three old women made themselves 
the depositories of indecent tales, and then re¬ 
peated them in all their revolting details. That, 
thought Poe, was just what the press did, only on 
a larger scale, and in a systematic, and business¬ 
like manner. 

“ He looked upon this hawking about of inde¬ 
cencies at so much a tale, as a singular work, into 
which some excellent persons had unwittingly been 
214 


betrayed. He had given up a good position on 
account of his inability to resign his conscience to 
the situation. He has a charming young wife, and 
no doubt she will greatly add to the social life of 
the young people, who are drifting into the older 
quarter of the city.” 

“ But there is one man you will not get yet,” 
remarked Mr. Airy. 

“ Who might that be ? ” asked Mrs. Burr. 

“That merchant, a Mr. Midas, I believe, whom 
the bishop got to build those tenements. He says 
he will give of his means, and will continue to pay 
the working people liberally,—a kind of profit- 
sharing which he has adopted ; but he cannot 
go so far as to live among the poor and do per¬ 
sonal work. The bishop, they say, told him that 
it might be his chief duty to remain where he was, 
and regenerate the consciences of his friends in 
business circles. This matter of a social regener¬ 
ation was a going down, but also a going up ; it 
worked both ways, and it were time, said the 
bishop, that the fact be recognized. He thinks 
that if Mr. Midas stays where he is, and walks 
justly, it may require the highest kind of courage.” 

“ That bishop seems to have a clear conception 
of how the regeneration is to be brought about,” 
added Burr, “ and I agree with him, that the com¬ 
ing hero will be the man who can tell the truth to 

215 


the rich, and the test of his greatness will be his 
ability to make wealth do its duty, as well as pov¬ 
erty. This going up into the slums, seems to be, 
as yet, virgin soil.” 

“ That bishop,” added Mrs. Airy, “ is really a 
genius. He has gone down, and now works up¬ 
ward, and really makes some people ashamed of 
themselves. He has the consummate art of mak¬ 
ing Mr. Midas feel that the poor people in his em¬ 
ploy are the props upon which his business rests, 
that they have more brain and energy than he has, 
and that hence they ought to receive an equitable 
share of these earnings. The bishop has given to 
the rich old man a new vision of commercial 
ethics.” 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

Another Day Off. 

Ring out the darkness of the land. 

Ring in the Christ that is to be. 

— Tennyson. 

There was one comfort in which Ai indulged. 
His rugs rivalled those of an Oriental prince in 
profusion and luxuriousness. There was nothing 
so restful as a couch of a few layers of soft rugs, on 
216 


the floor before the fireplace ; and it was here that 
he spent many hours in reading. He had just 
gotten interested in Hypatia, on one of his Mon¬ 
days off, when a negro announced himself, whom 
he at once recognized as the rector of St. 
Thomas’s, on Fifth Street. Ai was especially glad 
to see him, as he wished to confer with regard to 
the matter of trades for negro boys. During this 
conversation, the rector seemed diffident and some¬ 
what absent-minded ; his thoughts ran in a differ¬ 
ent direction, and Ai humored him and tried to 
draw him out. There was a hesitancy in his 
speech, but he finally made plain the object of his 
visit. They contemplated a removal of the Church, 
somewhere, a little farther west. A business firm 
had made a handsome offer for the site. 

The bishop’s heart beat high. 

‘‘But I understand,” said he, “ that the negro 
population is increasing rather than diminishing in 
the neighborhood.” 

“Yes.” 

“I also understand that their standard of mor¬ 
ality is not the highest.” 

“ There is plenty to do.” 

, “ What, then, is the difficulty ? ” 

“ The trustees thought the Church would succeed 
better farther west, in a better neighborhood.” 
“There is no absolute hindrance in the way of 
217 


support; only a support to keep up a certain style 
is wanted. There is also no question as to attend¬ 
ance, only as to attendance of a certain style. 
There is also no question concerning a large popu¬ 
lation which needs elevating, and which demands 
perhaps readjustment and adaptation.” 

These words were uttered as if he were summing 
up a case in court. He then gave his decision, 
and St. Thomas’s remained. 

“You say the site was wanted for business pur¬ 
poses? ” 

“Yes, a good offer was made for it.” 

“Ah, that is the old story over again. Where 
religion fails, business succeeds. Suppose we 
throw into our activities as much energy, as much 
common sense, as business men do into their 
affairs, and see how we will succeed.” 

The rector seemed to see the light, and determ¬ 
ined to take a new lease of church life. The bishop 
gave him a promise of aid in various ways, and 
mapped out a plan of operations. 

“Above all,” added he, “let us revise our 
standards of success.” 

As the man passed out, the rector of the As¬ 
cension came in. There was, the bishop thought, 
the same diffidence, the same hesitancy and nerv¬ 
ousness that marked the other man, and his heart 
sank within him. A smile, however, soon lighted 
218 


up the bishop’s face, as the rector placed a little 
bag of gold on the table—a liberal collection for 
the desolate and oppressed. 

After he had gone, Ai returned to his rugs in a 
pitiful state of exhaustion. Great drops of per¬ 
spiration stood on his brow, although the fire was 
low and the room cold. What vexed him so was 
the thought that so much of his toil was not in the 
direction of aggressive work, but merely to pre¬ 
vent retreat. He felt the humiliation, such as a 
great general would, who spent all his energies in 
preventing his men from seeking trees. He rolled 
on the rugs nervously, and tried by reading to 
calm his agitated mind, but all to no purpose. 
He then put on his cloak and started out for a 
walk. At the door he met Impey. The bright, 
cheerful face was refreshment to his troubled 
spirit, and he drew him in with both his extended 
hands. Here there would be no proposal of a re¬ 
moval, he was sure. 

Impey had a great deal to report. The boys and 
girls crowded his rooms, and he had a difficulty in 
getting helpers, to manage and utilize this material 
out of which the future fabric of society should be 
built. There was one thing these informal gather¬ 
ings of boys and girls for amusement did,—they 
afforded an opportunity to become acquainted with 
the other half, and find out their needs. One 
219 


could start these children right in many little 
ways; and the start is everything to the future 
man. They both lay down on the floor, as they 
frequently did when alone, but the bishop did not 
seem to become interested in Impey’s story. Ai 
answered in incoherent monosyllables and seemed 
absent-minded. In the middle of one of Impey’s 
sentences, Ai broke in—“ Now what would you 
do if you were in my place, and could do as you 
pleased ; the Church of St. Thomas proposes to 
move ? ’ ’ 

Impey thought for a moment, and then answer¬ 
ed in measured tones, “ I cannot tell what I would 
do, for 1 cannot imagine myself in your place. I 
can only tell you what I will do in my own 
place.” 

“ What would you do? ” 

“Not, what would I do, but what will I do. 
I will buy the Church, if for sale.” 

The perspiration again appeared on the brow of 
the bishop. Here was a man not to be trifled 
with, and he gave a dangerous advantage by giving 
him the information that the Church might be 
bought. He arose and paced the floor. He 
opened the window and washed out the room with 
a refreshing current of air. He then sat down in his 
wicker chair. Impey had ceased talking, noticing 
Ai’s disinclination. Ai however, timidly returned 
220 


to the subject of St. Thomas’s, and tried to frame 
a question which in his confusion was rather am¬ 
biguous. 

“ What would you do ? ” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ What would you do? ” 

“I, do?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Nothing.” 

“ But you said you would.” 

“ When?” 

“Just now.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ What would you do ? ” 

“ Nothing.” 

“ But you said you would.” 

They then halted for a time and looked each 
other in the face, and after this pause, Impey re¬ 
covered himself and said : 

“ You mean what would I do if I bought it? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ I would turn it into a Mohammedan mosque,” 
replied Impey. 

The bishop turned in his chair. 

“ There is nothing that will save certain levels 
of society,” continued Impey, “but Islam; and 
I would turn Mohammedan for the time being, 
and emphasize the truth, that the sale of intoxi- 
221 


eating drink among a people is a calamity/and I 
would make uncompromising warfare upon drunk¬ 
enness. I would teach the doctrine of Islam, that 
drunkenness is a crime. These people are cursed 
with drink, and we must get at the root of the dis¬ 
ease. It is drink that makes them poor, and then 
because they are poor, they drink. They drink 
and become incapables ; then in their poverty they 
drink to drown their sorrows. As poverty presses, 
they drink, and feel a momentary relief from anx¬ 
ious care, but this is followed by a reaction which 
is met by fresh libations. It is drink that is filling 
our gutters with the refuse of humankind. And 
we must meet it by Islam, for Islam alone seems 
capable of meeting the situation, except perhaps 
Buddhism. Your compromising Christianity is 
powerless. Its half-hearted ness, if it is correctly 
represented by its professed propagators, is abort¬ 
ive. Your religion says, ‘ Do not drink to excess; 
do not make a beast of yourself,—that.would be 
ungentlemanly, but you may tipple.’ You might 
as well talk of, a moderate chastity. Drink is an 
insidious evil with which you cannot toy; and 
Islam, with its positive, uncompromising teaching, 
is the only religion that will save us from this curse. 
Islam treats drunkenness as a crime, and we must 
measure up to this standard of the prophet of the 
one God.” 


222 


It was quite late when Impey left, and Ai could 
not sleep. His brain was on fire. He knelt at 
his priedieu, but said words which his intelligence 
did not follow. He closed the book and tried to 
collect his thoughts, his head resting on his folded 
arms. He must have rested thus for a long time, 
for when he awoke the taper had burned low in its 
socket. He went to the alcove and tried to read? 
but could not. Possibly Impey was right. There 
was, perhaps, too much compromise, too much 
half-heartedness, too much tippling, as Impey said. 
And was it Impey who should lead him to this 
truth ? Was it Islam that should prove the brighter 
light to lighten their darkness, and was it the pan¬ 
acea for the ills of the besotted community ? But 
what was to be done ? If the work should not go 
on under his guidance, Impey would buy, and Islam 
would take the crown from Christianity. The 
thought made Ai’s blood run cold. 

He then resolved to save the Church, and reor¬ 
ganize the work. He would throw aside conven¬ 
tional plans and methods, and study closely the 
needs of the people. If it was intemperance that 
was dragging them down, a modified Mohammed¬ 
anism must be practised. He resolved to say 
nothing about it, he would give it no name, but 
an uncompromising war upon intoxicants must be 
made to save this people from their besetting sin. 

223 


He would have the Church reorganized on a total 
abstinence basis. He would make this virtue of 
Islam the ruling idea of the work. He would en¬ 
graft this twig of Islam upon the tree of Chris¬ 
tianity,'and nurse it into fruit-bearing. In this se¬ 
cret resolve the. bishop found relief, and his 
troubled spirit became calm. He again lighted 
the taper on the priedieu, and sought the soothing 
influence of the prayers; and a strange radiance 
crept over his face, as if a new ray had been added 
to the light. 

When he awoke in the morning, he found it al¬ 
most time for his devotions in Church, for which 
he was already robed in his purple cassock, not 
having divested himself of it, for he had fallen 
into a deep sleep from sheer exhaustion of body 
and brain. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 
A Confessional. 


No priest ordains it, yet they’re forced to sit 
Amid deep ashes of their vanished years. 

—Daniel Deronda. 


At the wedding of Esther Airy there met two 
young people whose fates were there sealed. The 
224 


editor of the Daily Account had little leisure, his 
arduous duties claiming his attention. When, 
however, he claimed a night off and attended the 
wedding, his die was cast. He thought he would 
combine a little business with pleasure, and write 
a column, paying special attention to the antique 
house and arouse an interest in these almost for¬ 
gotten landmarks. This proved a serious busi¬ 
ness. 

There was present a cousin of Esther’s, a school¬ 
mate, who had organized a few girls at Wellesley, 
for personal service among the unfortunate, who 
looked very pretty in her baby-blue Greenaway 
gown; and the young editor fell a victim to her 
quaint beauty. They strolled into the spacious 
hall, made a few common-place remarks about the 
quaint carvings and arches, and then conversation 
seemed to flag on account of the deeper interest 
and feeling that agitated their minds. They were 
missed 'first by one, then another, and it was 
evident that the evening was an event to more 
than the bridal pair. 

The cousins arranged the matter, and it was 
concluded that the new household should be set 
up at 723 S. Front Street. This house was very 
quaint, had ahip roof and other marks of antiquity. 
There was a good deal of open space surrounding 
it, and this allowed for spacious and restful 
15 22 5 


verandas on three sides. The old wood work was 
preserved as much as possible, especially the fire¬ 
places and cupboards; and with additions here 
and there, it was made a cozy nest of quaintness. 
Everything was painted white,—the outside of the 
house, the wide verandas, all except the roof, 
which was red. The inside wood-work was also 
white; the walls were white-washed, rendering the 
house cheerful, sweet and healthful. Carpets were 
discarded ; rugs here and there taking their places. 
Quaint little shelves for books were constructed in 
every corner and conceivable nook. There was 
no library, but the books were scattered all over 
the house,—over the doorways, under windows, 
behind doors, in stairways; even outside on the 
veranda there was a small rack which was filled 
for public use. The neighbors were expected to 
help themselves. A paper rack received all the 
current magazines, and the community was en¬ 
couraged to take them and pass them on. This 
beautiful custom, of sharing with one’s neighbors 
the bright things of life, was fostered here by 
these young people. Since then, there has been 
less of storing away, in lofts and closets, the cur¬ 
rent magazines and papers; and the public rack 
on the veranda has served in making bright the 
firesides of many homes. The neighborly feeling 
grew; and this more than anything else has served 
226 


in spreading intelligence into all our social fabric. 
The white house with its white veranda had a 
peculiar appropriateness in sheltering this young 
couple who tried to keep themselves pure.' They 
attracted to themselves a few choice souls, who 
made an effort to lead an immaculate life in this 
compromising world. The little circles which 
gathered there on a summer’s evening, told of their 
peculiar difficulties in daily practice; and this has 
given it the name of The Confessional . 

Business men, educators, doctors, workingmen, 
editors, lawyers,—all trades and professions had 
their peculiar hindrances to a righteous straight¬ 
walking ; and on this veranda the confessions were 
made, frankly, in a simple straight-forward way, 
and counsel was asked and given. 

The editor of the Daily Account did not re¬ 
main editor of that sheet very long after he had 
moved into this white house. In a corner behind 
a door, stood a table, upon the table a glass case, 
which was often pointed to, when John Poe told 
the story of his peculiar difficulties in living 
righteously in an editorial room. One evening 
after Judge Rue had confessed his deflections, Poe 
told his story. 

“There,” said he, “lies the story. Come, 
look at it. I had long been possessed with the 
thought of purifying the press. I took courage 
227 


one day after reading several scathing comments 
on the immorality of the press, by several noted 
preachers. I conceived the idea of publishing two 
editions of the paper; one containing everything, 
a history of crimes, scandals, hangings and all, and 
to be distinctly marked as the Indecent Edition ; 
the other was to omit scandals, crimes, and the 
prurient details of law proceedings, and was to be 
made up especially for family reading, and marked 
as the Decent Edition. Both were sent out for 
sale, and the public could take their choice.” 

“ How did you succeed with the novel arrange¬ 
ment? ” asked the Judge. 

Poe sighed and rested his head on his hand, and 
after a pause said, “ A recent Decent Edition was 
left on our hands, and the Indecent Edition was 
all sold. I put the Decent Edition under glass, as 
a specimen of the clean reading which the public 
does not want. Come and look at it. It was.a 
very small edition too, but even that is nearly all 
here. I took the trouble to examine the regular 
list of subscribers, and the clean people took the 
Indecent Edition , and there was only one of the 
clergy who ordered a change, and that was the 
bishop. The preachers who administered the 
scathing rebukes, deploring the condition of our 
press, all took the Indecent Edition ; the subscrip¬ 
tion list showed that. I gave it a fair trial. The 
228 


novelty sold the first few issues, but the subsequent 
numbers were unsold. Yet the difference between 
the two was slight. The indecencies omitted, did 
not cover more than half a column a day; the 
rest of the paper was exactly the same; but the 
public wanted the indecencies, and the edition that 
had them was sold. I tried to make the Indecent 
Edition as clean as possible, but there was a sharp 
competition between the papers, and the publisher 
told me we must not lose our circulation, but must 
give the public what it wants. The matter ran on 
thus for a long time. I was daily handling this 
filth that was dumped on my desk. I pared down, 
culled out, omitted here, and smoothed there. 
My efforts, however, were met by daily visits of 
the proprietor, who said that the details were the 
juice of the matter, and to make it piquant I must 
not make it too bald; other papers would be 
bought for the details, and we must compete. 

“One day he commented on the report of a 
hanging, which was not, he said, as full as the 
other papers had it. On comparing the accounts, 
they were found exactly alike in all details, with 
the exception of the statement, which I had struck 
out, that the culprit’s tongue hung out, and that it 
was of a dark purple color. Nothing escaped his 
eye, and the thought was a constant torture to me 
while doing my work. 


“But the matter came to a crisis on the occasion 
of a fight between two noted pugilists. The Daily 
Account had a scathing, full length editorial on 
the day preceding, condemning the brutal affair 
that was to be, and speaking in a way that reflected 
credit on clean journalism. Here is a copy of the 
editorial. I was requested by the proprietor to 
write it, and he afterward approved of it. This 
gave me courage, and I hoped good things for the 
next day. But you can perhaps imagine my con¬ 
sternation, when the reports of the rounds as they 
were fought came in, and I was requested to pub¬ 
lish them in full, with all their horrible and bloody 
details. The report made three columns of closely 
printed matter. Here I have it, pinned to the 
scathing, condemnatory editorial of the day be¬ 
fore. There you have the ethics of journalism. 
That was my last day in the office; and here is 
the tale, under glass. 

“ I am doing a little work nowon educational 
text-books, and perhaps the rising generation may 
be educated to better things ; for it is the genera¬ 
tion, mark you, that is at fault. I do not despair, 
however, and believe that a clean press will yet be 
supported, and that I will see the day when the 
Decent Edition will be bought for the home, and 
the Indecent Edition , if printed at all, will be 
read in a corner or behind the barn, and hurriedly 
2 3° . 



put out of sight when anyone appears. When 
men will deal practically with the matter, and call 
things by their right names, much will be 
gained.” 

“The bishop did a courageous thing the other 
day, and we need only a few more such men,” 
added Poe. 

“That little bishop, they say, is courageous; 
I never meet him, but should like to,” interrupted 
the judge. 

“ Yes; they say he sent back a check for $500, 
which he found in a collection for a Home for 
Young Girls, a contribution from the publisher of 
the Daily Account. He pinned to the check a 
few cuttings from that paper, enclosing a note, 
saying, that such paragraphs discouraged young 
girls, and drove them to the streets, and filled such 
Homes with girls who might have been saved to 
their families and to society, had not these humil¬ 
iating, personal and distorted details of their lives 
been published. It subjected them to the taunts of 
acquaintances, which they sought to escape by a 
bold plunge into evil ways. Enid Burr had traced 
out for the bishop a number of cases in a Home, 
and found that the first step downward was taken 
after distorted details had been published in the 
Daily Account, which wounded their pride and 
respect. They felt themselves injured, and be- 
231 


came desperate under the weight of this injustice. 
The bishop told the publisher that $500 did not 
atone for such a wrong. He called it the price 
of blood, and he would not even buy with it a 
potter’s field. He said also that the man who 
gathers up the filth from our streets and cesspools, 
and loads it into his cart, and takes it out to fer¬ 
tilize the land for the raising of crops, is engaged 
in an honorable and even a clean business, com¬ 
pared with this business of gathering our social 
filth, and dumping it down at our doors for a trif¬ 
ling sum a day. The publisher took it very much 
to heart; for he is really a man of good parts, 
and well-intentioned, and has simply drifted with 
the tide, and conducts his business according to the 
prevailing code. The bishop, however, has set 
him to thinking, and he has sent for me, asking 
me to take charge of the paper, with sole control 
of its news. The bishop evidently has stimulated 
his conscience.” 

“That is the sort of bishop to have,” said the 
Judge, “and you must bring us together some 
day ;—strange, I never have met him.” 

They then stepped outside, where there was a 
refreshing breeze, and Poe remarked, “ I under¬ 
stand that there has been another resignation 
handed in. May we look for new legislation in 
the direction of a sane code of laws? ” 

232 


“ I would like to get rid of all contact with the 
courts,” replied the Judge, “ but it seems my fate 
to be harassed by these elections—possibly a 
Nemesis, on account of my past derelictions. I 
cannot prevent their electing me, and it seems my 
duty to serve, and to spend the rest of my days in 
quarreling with the law. This was another scandal¬ 
ous case; and my resignation lay on the table an 
hour after the report of the Master had been con¬ 
firmed.” 

“ It was another equity case, then ? ” 

“ Yes, another equity; a case of iniquity it 
ought to be called.” 

“ What are the points? ” 

“The iniquity consisted in confirming the re¬ 
port, although contrary to the evidence. But a 
judge can scarcely help "himself; the fault lies in 
the system. The matter stands thus : A judge ap¬ 
points a Master. The Master makes his report, 
no matter what, and the judge confirms it always. 
Is the judge likely to say, that the man of his own 
appointment has been untrustworthy, and is he so 
shortsighted as to expose the errors of his selected 
friend? I have served as judge myself, and as 
associate judge in this particular case, and the 
injustices that are done every day from motives of 
policy and self-interest, and for the purpose of 
233 


covering up one’s errors, are a scandal to our 
courts.” 

“ I see,” said Poe, “ that a judge has peculiar 
temptations; but has a Master any? ” 

“ There is where a great deal of the trouble lies. 
A Master is an irresponsible person, only an 
ordinary lawyer; he is not known in the case, and 
not held up to public view ; his name is not even 
attached to his report; he signs himself simply, 

‘ The Master.’ Here a great safeguard is let 
down. This unknown man can act from mo¬ 
tives of personal feeling, out of friendship to the 
attorneys on one side or the other; can hide be¬ 
hind vague statements; can make arbitrary de¬ 
cisions in matters of pure opinion; and can in¬ 
dulge in the most narrow reasoning—all in the 
name of ‘The Master,’ whom the public does not 
know. The temptations to injustice are particularly 
strong on account of the method of appointment, 
—-for no judge will expose the man of his own 
choosing. The most arbitrary decisions are some¬ 
times rendered, involving large sums of money ; 
but the judge confirms them as a matter of 
course.” 

“ It does not go before a jury then ? ” 

“ No ; an equity case is practically decided by 
one lawyer, unknown to the public, who is practic¬ 
ally irresponsible. A jury of twelve men would 
234 


be a better guarantee of just dealing. To rebuff a 
complainant would not encourage the bringing of 
suits, and what would become of the lawyers with¬ 
out fees ? So reasons the Master. The jerry would 
have no such temptations.” 

“ But one of the saddest things connected with 
the matter,” continued the judge, “ is the judge’s 
refusal to read the evidence. He frequently could 
not pass the most elementary examination on the 
facts of the case he decides. And should he try 
to understand, there frequently exists the inability 
to do so, as for instance, in the case of complicated 
accounts. He relies entirely upon the Master, and 
confirms all he reports. But suppose the Master 
does not understand, or does not read the 
evidence ? What then ? ” 

“ Do you know of such derelictions of Mas¬ 
ters?” inquired Poe. 

“I do. I know of a Master who told the at¬ 
torneys boldly, to their faces, that he would not 
read the evidence, but asked them what they 
claimed; and reasoned that if one claimed too 
much the other would trip him. The issue of the 
case depended, you see, upon the ability of the 
lawyers to trip one another. I have seen the most 
shameful injustices done, and it has made me sick 
at heart to see the rottenness of our procedures. I 
resigned a few days ago for tliQ sixth time, and 
235 


am going to the legislature to have a law passed to 
the effect that the judge must submit to an examin¬ 
ation to prove that he has read the evidence, and 
that he has understood it. Startling as this in¬ 
sinuation may seem, it will strike at the root of the 
matter. There is not a case of injustice, but there 
is a suppressed murmur among the attorneys, that 
the judge did not read the evidence.” 

“ Do you think judges take bribes? ” 

“ Do you mean money? ” 

“Yes.” 

“No. That were a blunder. You will not 
find a bright man so thoughtless as to commit it. 
Those things are arranged in another way. They 
give favors for favors received,—not actual money, 
but that which has a money value. When a judge 
with a handsome salary is elected, it means that 
some one has been active to secure him this elec¬ 
tion. He makes a mental note of it, and being an 
honorable man, the little affair will not be forgot¬ 
ten. He takes no bribes, no money, he simply 
draws his salary. He gives no money, he simply 
appoints a Master who is to receive handsome 
costs; or he renders arbitrary decisions when 
questions of opinion are concerned, which has a 
money value to the litigants, or to the winning at¬ 
torney.” 

‘ ‘ How so ? ” 

236 




“ A winning attorney makes a reputation, which 
has a money value. It all comes down to a matter 
of money—hard cash—no matter by what round¬ 
about way you get at the matter.” 

“ It seems that a reformation is necessary,” said 
Poe, wht) was not a little touched at the frankness 
of the judge. 

“ Necessary ? I look upon many of our courts, 
as one huge machinery for legalizing injustice. 
And the sad feature of it is, that you cannot look 
for a great change. The farces played in the 
presence of the woman with the bandage over her 
eyes, are not seen by her; and no one cares to 
have her see. That is the reason they keep her 
bandaged.” 

“But cannot something be done ?” suggested 
Poe. 

“ The case is a peculiar one, and makes reform 
difficult. There are three men who might become 
reformers, but they are the very 'persons upon 
whom you cannot count—the man who has been 
squeezed, the attorney, and the judge. 

“ The man who has had an injustice done him 
in the name of the law, is generally a poor man, 
—that is the reason he has been squeezed. He 
had no money, and could not hold out. It was 
only a matter of holding out. This poor man is 
so disgusted that he dares not give himself a 
237 


thought of lawyers, judges, and the courts. He 
gets off a car when he finds it will pass the temple 
of Justice. It is not probable that such a man will 
enter upon a career as reformer. But even were 
he willing, he would not be able, without a purse, 
to work the machinery of the legislature; could 
not meet the legitimate expenses which such an un¬ 
dertaking would involve. 

“ Then as to the judges and the lawyers. It is 
not likely that they will take their bread from 
themselves, in a philanthropic endeavor, looking 
for the good of the human race. Unjust and con¬ 
flicting laws nourish their profession. Justice 
ought to be an easy and simple matter to obtain ; 
but the ignorant and the poverty-stricken man 
cannot get it on account of the law, its language 
and its technicalities. The vagueness of the law 
makes necessary a lawyer, and this necessitates a 
lawyer on the other side, and this dispute makes 
necessary a judge, and his apparent lack of firm 
ground to stand on, makes necessary a court of 
appeal, with its arguments and endless delays. 
The more bungling the machinery and conflicting 
the laws, the brighter the prospect for a protracted 
litigation ; and all this makes work for the lawyer. 
Now will a lawyer or a judge spoil all this shuffling 
when his bread lies in it? Can you look in that 
direction and hope for a sane system of juris- 
238 


prudence ? Certainly they are not to be counted 
as earnest and brilliant reformers.” 

“ These are startling facts, Judge, and this ex¬ 
plains the action of the bishop. I heard of another 
courageous thing he did not long ago. That man, 
it appears, never does a thing without some good 
reason, and your story, Judge, throws light on the 
bishop’s act. 

“The story runs that hp visited a house on 
business, where was a bright company of pleasant 
people, enjoying one of those four o’clock teas. 
He was there entirely by accident, but was invited 
to take a cup of tea. He sat down and chatted 
with an acquaintance, but did not drink the tea. 
It was the home of a successful lawyer whom he 
had once followed through a case, -which was won 
on a technicality—technically right, but morally 
infamous, as he said, and which brought in its 
train an endless amount of trouble and suffering to 
innocent and helpless persons. He thought of all 
this as the tea was placed before him, and he re¬ 
fused to drink it because he thought he smelled 
blood in it .” 

Footsteps were heard around the corner. “ But 
here comes the bishop,” said Poe, “You will have 
the pleasure of meeting the man. He has been 
out again through the by-streets, looking up some 
wrong or abuse, I warrant you.” 

2 39 


When the two were presented, the judge looked 
for a moment as if stunned, and then laughed 
heartily. The bishop smiled. This requires ex¬ 
planation. 

The bishop and the judge had met before. One 
day they were both walking along the river road 
in opposite directions. They sat down to rest 
within a few yards of one another, and the judge 
took out a cigar. t^js match went out. He felt 
for another cigar ; he would then walk up to that 
little old man, offer him a cigar, get a light, and 
possibly also a little diversion, of which he stood 
in need. This might also be a man whom he had 
injured, or whose relatives he had wronged on a 
technicality, and even a cigar might prove a grain 
of reparation. He would make no inquiries; 
just as likely as not he would hit the mark ; for 
the more he inquired, the more impressed was he 
with the devastation he had created in his success¬ 
ful career as a lawyer. 

“ Have a cigar ? ” 

The little old man took it, wrapped it in apiece 
of newspaper, and put it in his pocket. 

“I thank you; I do not smoke myself, but I 
have friends who do; I hate the smell in my 
clothes, and the paper protects me. No, I never 
learnt. I once made a calculation, and found 
that it has saved me quite a fortune. Not that 
240 




I have the fortune, but I should have needed the 
fortune to keep it up. And yet, I suppose, I 
handle more cigars than you do. Indeed if I 
smoked I could only accept as many as I could con¬ 
veniently use; but as it is, I accept all that are 
offered, and by far a greater number than any 
one man could possibly use himself. You see I 
have so many friends who really depend upon me 
for their supplies. Smoking is one of the strange 
habits of life.” He then went on relating a series 
of stories of singular incidents, grouped around 
cigars, pipes and tobacco pouches, until the judge 
became a little nervous; for he had all this time 
been holding his cigar with the end bitten off, 
expecting to get a match. But this miscarried. 
He got one from a guard ; and then sat down be¬ 
side the talkative stranger. They watched the wa¬ 
ter sprinklers. The old man thought the roads well 
watered; indeed everything seemed to be con¬ 
ducted in the interest of those who drove car¬ 
riages. He would like to see more shelters 
erected, so as to have less sprinkling on poor 
mothers and babies. He one day saw a little 
child almost drowned in a storm. Less sprink¬ 
ling on the roads, and less sprinkling on the babies 
was wanted, he thought. 

He also spoke of the want of benches along the 
river road, and said he could never see the econ- 
16 241 


omy of gathering them up and piling them outside 
the shelters and exposed to the winter storms. At 
least a few broken-down benches might be left 
scattered along frequented paths. Did not the 
Commissioners know that there were suits pending 
all the year round ; and did not these men involved 
in litigations need long walks, even in midwinter, 
to get away from men and nearer the kindly 
trees. ? 

The judge winced ; but the turn the conversation 
had been taking, caused him to move up a little 
closer; and for several hours he sat listening to 
the old man’s remarks and comments on a wide 
■range of subjects, until his watch reminded him 
of an engagement. He bade the stranger a good- 
day, and walked down the river path toward the 
city. A few minutes afterward, the little old man 
passed him, riding in a carriage, and he looked out 
and smiled. The judge had not asked his name, 
had formed no particular opinion of him, had only 
been intensely interested in the variety of subjects 
he had talked about so well. He had been im¬ 
pressed with the rough shoes, the trousers rolled 
up, and the knotty stick; these things with his 
bright eyes, his benevolent features, and the fund 
of information which he launched forth with a 
lavish prodigality, all were now recalled ; and he 
wondered to whom he had been speaking. He 
242 


also recalled that he had sat there for several hours, 
scarcely uttering a word himself. Oddly enough, 
he had been entertained by tobacco-pipe stories 
for half an hour, in which all the great men who 
smoked and who did not smoke were recounted, 
and this by a man who never smoked himself, but 
who never refused a cigar, and who was the source 
of supply to his friends. A queer man this. He 
also remembered that he had been led step by step 
over a wide range of subjects,—literature, poli¬ 
tics, the recent discoveries in science, the history 
of religions, and the great philanthropic questions 
of the day; that he had gone from stage to stage 
with ease, had been interested at every turn, had not 
been bored by undue dogmatism ; and that through 
it all the man had never stopped sufficiently long 
for the wedging in of a word. The bench had 
taught him how to listen to the narration of 
facts; and here he had listened for half a day, 
had been instructed and fascinated, and had then 
abandoned this intellectual feast, that he might 
get his regular dinner. He despised himself. He 
had not even inquired the man’s name. Would 
he ever meet him again? He walked that way 
the next day, and the next, and the day follow¬ 
ing, for a whole week, but did not meet him. 
He then recollected the coachman ; it was Midas’s 
man. This puzzled him still more. How could 
243 



this poor man have any connection with Midas ? 
Then those conversations were again recalled, and 
he was puzzled more than ever. For a few days 
he thought about the matter, and then it wholly 
passed out of his mind. 

It was this introduction, that brought up the 
incident of a year ago, which caused the amuse¬ 
ment. The judge and the bishop met. 

“ We have just been confessing our sins to one 
another,” said Poe to the bishop, ‘‘and we have 
concluded that there is little good in 11s. Our 
press is unwholesome, and our courts are not 
sweet.” 

“These things, taken in connection with the 
derelictions of the Church,” interrupted the bishop, 
“ make the case of us three sad indeed ; very sad ; 
and they ought to cause us confusion of face. But 
I must not reproach you. Upon me rests a great 
deal of the blame. I have frequently thought of 
the fact, that about the last one to apply to, to 
bring about a reform, is the clergyman. He does 
not seem to be very courageous, or to have any 
business with practical righteousness. The good 
women are generally the leaders in social reform. 
Perhaps it is because evils press hardest in their 
direction, and they then revolt and lead off. But 
what a time they do have to get the clergy inter¬ 
ested in any live, positive, practical movement for 
244 



righteousness. They are so preoccupied,—busy 
with services and talk, that the women despair.” 

The judge and the editor listened with astonish¬ 
ment, and the three men walked up and down the 
veranda, locked arm in arm, and bending their 
heads low. They could not look each other in the 
face as they thus mutually confessed their sins. 

Here were three brilliant minds, who had tried 
to be of service to humanity in three of the most 
helpful of ways. One tried to bring light to the 
intellect, another sought to satisfy that sense of 
justice that is native to every heart, and the third 
sought to be helpful to both, in their high endeav¬ 
ors to promote a brotherhood, founded upon intel¬ 
ligence and justice. But they found their work 
almost abortive. What ought to have been a 
source of light, threw only a shadow, and what 
ought to have satisfied a sense of justice, only proved 
a grim farce. They turned away from their work, 
and spoke to one another frankly and freely, but 
with heaviness of heart. One longed for a fisher¬ 
man’s hut, beyond the reach of railroad and tele¬ 
graph, where he could hear no news; the other 
wanted an abode among simple and primitive peo¬ 
ple who did no wrong, or if they did, who had no 
machinery to work a double wrong in seeking to 
redress it. 

But there was in their conduct a rich promise of 
245 


good. They had made sacrifices and had con¬ 
fessed their sins. There was repentance and the 
fruit. They had turned their faces toward the city 
where dwelleth righteousness. The one said, our 
reading must be clean ; the other said, our courts 
must be just; and the third said, our clergy must 
act. When three such men, who -Sincerely say 
such words, call be found, the outlook for the age is 
not altogether a hopeless one. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 
Reparation. 


A pious magistrate ! sound his praise throughout 
The wondering churches. Who shall henceforth doubt 
That the long wished Millennium draweth nigh? 

— Whittier. 

As this bud was ripening for the judgeship, 
Counselor Rue was known as a specialist. His 
stronghold was constructed of solid layers of closely 
cemented technicalities, and he hid within it and 
defeated justice every time. This was well known ; 
so that when anyone felt that he had no moral 
right in his case, or firm ethical ground to stand 
on, he employed Counselor Rue, who would plant 
himself behind his cold wall of technicalities, and 
246 


win every time; and on these lines his business 
prospered. 

When, however, repentance came, there was a 
clamor for such a judge-—one who based himself 
upon the ethics of the matter. Hence it occurred 
that he was so often elected ; although only to 
resign when he ran up against walls of technicali¬ 
ties similar to those which had so often sheltered 
him. He was elected ten times; sat about a week 
each time, then resigned, and spent the time.be¬ 
tween the elections in quarreling with the law and 
enlightening legislators. That was the kind of 
judge to have, thought the citizens at the polls,— 
a judge with sensitive nostrils. 

It was pitiful to see the various efforts which 
Judge Rue made toward reparation to persons 
whom he had done a professional injitry. It mat¬ 
tered not whether he had won or lost the case, it 
was all the same. The very fact that he had pros¬ 
ecuted a case against anyone, was sufficient to sat¬ 
isfy him that he had wronged that man. If he 
won, very likely it was on a cold technicality-— 
the essence of injustice; if he lost, the winner 
was really the loser, for he made an opponent 
fight hard and long, and the pain and suffering 
caused, and the expense which it involved, left 
the winner a wreck. Thus he reasoned, and 
sought out all against whom he had ever con- 
247 


ducted cases, and seriously tried to make such 
reparation as lay in his power. There were, 
however, some wrongs which could not be atoned 
for. Money could not do it; time, labor, love, 
devotion, nothing could undo the wrong that had 
been done. This was brought home to him one 
day very forcibly, in a way that cast a gloom over 
his life. 

He was one day making a tour of inspection at 
the Alms House, of which he had been elected a 
visitor. As he was passing through the women’s 
ward of the department for the insane, a patient 
unexpectedly rushed forward and struck him in 
the face ; and seizing him by the hair dragged him 
to the floor. The keepers came to his assistance, 
and secured and removed the woman to a cell. 
She kept up an incessant crying, and charged the 
judge with having ruined her husband, and with 
being the * cause of the death of her daughter, 
and also the cause of her being detained where 
she was. The keepers were taken by surprise, as 
this patient had hitherto been remarkably mild 
and tractable ; in fact, she had been out on pa¬ 
role, and it was thought she should soon be per¬ 
manently discharged. But this new development 
of her mental condition, while it demanded atten¬ 
tion, was not uncommon. Patients had those ab¬ 
normal attacks; indeed, nothing was much of a 
248 


surprise in that place. So the judge was assured 
by the keepers, and was asked to pass the matter 
over as a freak of the mentally unsound. 

The judge, however, was set thinking. He in¬ 
quired as to the antecedents of this woman, and 
made careful notes. A few days afterward, he re¬ 
turned and inquired whether it was possible to 
make arrangements to have this patient treated as 
a pay patient, with better accommodations, and 
such comforts as money could provide. He guar¬ 
anteed to meet all such expenses, and left a sum 
for any immediate want. In a few days he called 
again and made further provision. He inquired 
as to the whereabouts of the husband and the fam¬ 
ily. He learned that the husband had no settled 
abode; that several children had died about the 
time the mother’s insanity developed itself, and 
that the home was broken up. 

The husband of this woman had once been a 
prosperous business man, and had accumulated a 
little fortune; but had gotten involved in a law¬ 
suit, and had lost all. The bright business man 
became a wreck. His living was gone ; and with 
want and poverty in his home, he was unable to 
f cope with a long siege of sickness, which took 
away two children—all he had. The wife’s wor- 
riments brought on cerebral disease, and she was 
taken to the Alms House. 

249 


The man was located by the judge at a cheap 
lodging-house, where he was in debt. He had 
had a situation given him by a former business 
friend, but his troubles in th£ courts seemed to 
have unbalanced his mind, and he lacked capacity 
to properly fulfill his duties. He, however, was 
kept in his position until the house changed hands, 
when he was informed that his services were no 
longer required. He then had a paper route given 
him, but he lacked the energy to meet the early 
morning requirements, and that also came to noth¬ 
ing. He then drifted into selling papers on the 
streets, to his former business friends. Of all sad 
things, this was most pitiful, and it cut the judge 
to the heart. This man, bearing the marks of ed¬ 
ucation and refinement, and known for his past 
business success and integrity, was now hawking 
papers, and daily meeting men with whom he had 
had dealings by check. The judge had often seen 
him, but now that he knew his history, he was 
filled with remorse. He would sometimes send 
boys to buy the whole armful. It was the best he 
could do, as the man was bitter and revengeful, 
and had resisted numerous advances which the 
judge had made. 

One day the judge inquired at his lodging place 
about his rent. He had never fallen behind a 
great deal, but had a miserable little room, very 
250 


close and-stuffy, under the roof, which, during 
the summer, was almost unendurable. The lady who 
let the room had kindly given him a larger room, 
on the second floor, which had temporarily become 
vacant, as was usual in summer, when many of her 
lodgers left the city. She thought the old man 
willing, and a good payer when he had the money, 
and as he gave little trouble around the house, she 
tried to make him more comfortable in the larger 
room, as he was far from strong, and the heat 
caused him much suffering. She did not charge 
him extra so long as the room was not wanted. 
After personally learning these facts, the judge left 
a sum of money for the extra pay, and asked that 
the man might be allowed to remain. He would 
always be responsible for this rent, and if she could 
reduce the sum paid by the old man, without 
arousing suspicion, he would make up the differ¬ 
ence. But she must say nothing of what had 
passed between them. Winter came, and lodgers 
filled the house, but the old man remained in his 
large, comfortable room. Since times were so 
hard, he could also have the room for half the sum 
he had been paying. He looked a little bewilder¬ 
ed, but after this temporary interest, became 
stolid. He did not take an interest in anything. 
He accepted all as a matter of course. 

The judge’s cautiousness was prudent; for one 
2 5 1 


day he was told that the old man had been loiter¬ 
ing around the gates of the Alms House, and had 
been inquiring what days the judge visited there. 
The officials had incautiously told him that the 
judge had made provision for the wife. This 
greatly agitated him. “ He has ruined me, and 
now he wishes to take my wife from me by bribes. 
He is sly ; but I will see to that—I will see to 
that.” 

The judge. followed him one day to the place 
where he got his meals. A kind, neat Quaker 
lady said he had been coming there for several 
months ; that he paid, but chose the cheapest, and 
ate little. The judge asked whether she thought 
he would eat more if he could pay* and whether 
she had any way of letting him have more without 
arousing suspicion, if he should leave the sum to 
cover such extra expense. From that time on 
there always was added a cup of coffee or a custard, 
perhaps, which he had not ordered. He ate 
voraciously all that was placed before him. This 
man, who was once so keen to see the relation be¬ 
tween an article and the price paid for it, had now 
ceased to notice anything. 

By skillful treatment and change of scene the 
woman was restored to health. This was brought 
about by a long journey. She went to Europe as 
companion to a lady. This lady was really the 
252 


attendant employed by the judge. The invalid 
was paid a little sum to keep up the fiction. 

The old man continued on the alert, and re¬ 
sented .all overtures,—even refused to sell the 
judge a paper ; and he steeled his heart. 

When death came to the woman, a carriage fol¬ 
lowed at a distance, as the little procession wended- 
its way on foot to the graveyard. After the burial, 
a man emerged from this carriage and stood by the 
grave until the diggers had entirely filled it in ; he 
then gave several directions, slipped a few coins 
into the rough hands of the men, and left as 
mysteriously as he had come. The same man was 
afterwards frequently seen entering the cemetery, 
and sitting by the grave for hours at a time. Such, 
however, was no unusual occurrence, so the keepers 
thought nothing of it. They, however, always 
came near the man, who always had some commis¬ 
sion for them, and paid them liberally for keeping 
well-tended this grave. 

One day the old man chanced to enter the ceme¬ 
tery, and met this man giving directions at his 
wife’s grave. The meeting was a terrible one. 
The old man who had for a year past become quiet 
in his ways, suddenly burst out into a torrent of 
imprecations. His eyes flashed, and bulged from 
his head, and grew blood-shot; his face flushed 
and every nerve in his body quivered; he drew 
2 53 


himself up to full length and opened and closed 
his mouth as if speaking, but could not utter an 
audible word; he gave one long, searching, 
piercing look into the face of the judge; his eyes 
seemed to burst and his brain boil; and falling 
forward, he clasped the judge in a close embrace, 
dragging him to the grave, where after a few long 
gasps, the maniac died—holding the judge as in a 
vise. 

The coroner said that both his heart and brain 
were diseased. 

As a matter of formality, the judge was required 
to sign the document of inquest. He took the 
pen with a trembling hand, and looking vacantly 
out of a window, held it for a long time. The 
coroner reminded him that there were others wait¬ 
ing to sign. He had folded his hands on the 
paper and become oblivious to his surroundings. 

The judge tried to spend his fortune in relieving 
those whom he had injured. He was lavish when 
opportunities for reparation opened; but they were 
few, as those injured were bitter, and resented his 
advances. It broke his heart. 

He died, leaving a considerable estate, which 
he would gladly have returned to those whom he 
had involved in litigations. He made a will which 
read as follows : — 


254 


I give and bequeath $250,000 to the 
insane asylums (sic) of this city and 
state. I earned (sic) this money from 
those who spent their lifetime in law¬ 
suits. This legacy is only a restitu¬ 
tion. 

When the lawyers got hold of the judge’s will, 
it was thrown into chancery and kept there for two 
generations. An unmarried lawyer got married, 
raised a family on the refreshers, and when quite 
old left the case in the hands of his son. The will 
was finally overthrown on a technicality. He who 
had written hundreds of wills which stood, had his 
own overthrown on a technicality, and the princi¬ 
pal was eaten up in costs—a grim, unrelenting 
Nemesis which followed this man beyond the 
grave. 


CHAPTER XXX. 
Concerning Past Days. 


Ye have respect to him that weareth the gay clothing, and say unto 
him, Sit thou here in a good place ; and say to the poor ; Stand thou 
there or sit here under my footstool.— James. 


The little reforms which Ai wrought had their 
little romances. They were not always accom- 
255 


plished by design, after careful thought, but a pure 
accident might suggest an opportunity which he 
would embrace. 

The cosmopolitan congregations of- 

are the result of his work; but this was not brought 
about by deliberate design or by hard work or 
persistent effort. He took the tide at the flood, 
and the work was done. 

One day, after he had preached one of his 
characteristic sermons on man’s inhumanity to 
man, as he was passing out, the sexton handed him 
a card upon which were written a few lines which he 
tried to decipher. The sexton, a roguish man, 
eyed Ai, and then remarked ;— 11 That is quite 
good, isn’t it? ” 

Ai read it again carefully, and said, “I do not 
quite understand it.” 

The sexton then took him aside and explained. 
This bishop was very approachable and found it 
advantageous to be on good terms with the sextons 
of his diocese. It was from that source that he 
really got his information of the condition of 
things when the congregations were not on dress 
parade. He rarely read the parochial reports, but 
closely questioned the sextons, whom he called 
the Diocesan Committee on the State # of the 
Church. 

They both laughed, and Ai said it was capital. 

256 



He appreciated a pleasantry, and this was more 
than good. He put the card into his pocket, and 
said with a twinkle in his eye, that it would make 
a good text next time he came. A few weeks 
afterwards, Ai asked for this pulpit; for it was his 
custom not to make periodical visits to the 
churches for confirmation only; but he asked for 
opportunities to deliver special messages when they 
burned within him. The timid messengers who 
thought a good deal, but lacked the courage to 
deliver, found this deliciously convenient. Those 
were the days of bold and pregnant thought and 
fearless speech. The bold thought was pretty 
evenly distributed among the clergy, but the fear¬ 
less speech was mainly uttered through the bishop. 
The man whose one aim in life was to be safe, 
would be stirred with some wrong of the times; 
but prudence would dictate moderation, which gen¬ 
erally ended in absolute silence. Why sacrifice 
himself? It would neither be wise nor right. One 
owed a duty to oneself and to others. Thus would 
he reason. So the messenger became dumb, and 
the message lay neatly folded and undelivered. 
And yet there was stirring speech, but it came 
through Ai. The clergy made the bishop the 
dumping ground for all wrongs and abuses, and put 
into his ear all schemes of reform with which the 
times were concerned. They would furnish him 
17 2 5 7 


with powder and ball, point out the mark, and 
then run for a tree. And so it was one of his 
sayings as he passed from the vestry door, “To¬ 
day I have laid my hands upon their heads; next 
time I come, I will touch their consciences.” 

Impey thought this especially fine; and he 
recommended two bishops to every diocese—one 
for touching the head, and the other for touching 
the conscience; and when the touching of the 
conscience should become a serious business, then 
would the laying on of hands have a significance. 

When the promised visit was made, Ai took with 
him the card, and made it the starting point of his 
discourse. 

The story of the card as told by the sexton, 
was substantially as follows :—A man who had 
not been to Church for a long time, finally heark¬ 
ened to the persuasions of his wife, and decided to 
go. Arriving at the Church, he found few people 
in it, and no ushers on hand ; so he went up the cen¬ 
tre aisle and took possession of a nice pew. Just as 
the service was about to begin, a pompous-look¬ 
ing old man came in, walked to the door of that 
pew, and stood there, exhibiting evident surprise 
that it was occupied. The occupant moved over 
and offered him room to sit down, but he declined 
to be seated. Finally the old man produced a 

258 


card, and wrote upon it with pencil, “ I pay for 
this peiu." 

He gave the card to the strange occupant. 

The stranger adjusted his eyeglasses, and with 
a smile read the card, and then calmly wrote be¬ 
neath it, “ How much do you, pay ? ” 

To this inquiry the pompous gentleman, still 
standing, wrote abruptly, “ Tivo hundred dollars 
a year sir. ’ ’ 

The stranger smiled as though pleased, looked 
around to compare the pew with others, admired 
its soft cushion and rich furnishings, and wrote 
back, “I don't blame you it is well worth it." 
The pompous gentleman at that stage, collapsed 
into his seat. 

The bishop read the card to the congregation, 
causing no little merriment; and then in his in¬ 
imitable manner, delivered his truth. The fruits 
appeared. A few weeks afterwards, two-thirds of 
the congregation yielded up their rights to pews, 
and promised an ample support through the offer¬ 
ings. The other pew-holders followed within the 
year, and that church became the cosmopolitan 
and all-inclusive institution it is to-day. 

2 59 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

An Intellectual Anvil. 

But always there is seed being sown, silently and unseen ; and ev¬ 
erywhere there come sweet flowers without our foresight and labor.— 
George Eliot. 

It is a notable fact, that although there had 
been a close intimacy between Impey and Ai for 
half a century, Impey had never been to Church, 
to hear Ai preach. He had spent much time in 
the bishop’s company, revised much of his man¬ 
uscript, nursed Him for weeks in illness, but had 
never set foot inside his Church. Impey had led 
little children to the school of the little cathedral, 
and had distributed at the corners thousands of 
invitations to its services; but had never gone 
himself. He sometimes would inveigle working¬ 
men into discussions on Sunday mornings, and 
then breaking off suddenly would say, “ If you 
wish to hear this very subject discussed, go to 
the Church on Minster Street this morning, and 
hear Ai preach; he will treat it ably, I assure 
you.” And thus he had sent many interested 
listeners, but had never gone himself. 

Why should I go and hear myself preach ? ” 
he said to me one day. 

260 


“How yourself preach? I don’t understand 
you.” 

“How? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“There has not been a sermon from the lips 
of Ai for years, that I could not have repeated 
to you three days before it was delivered, in sub¬ 
stance, at least.” 

All this was curious, and Impey told me the 
following story as we walked up the glen to Bel¬ 
mont, to hear the Gypsy band. 

“ That bishop has the most consummate faculty 
of selecting the good ideas lying loose around him, 
and not only selecting, but reflecting them; and 
it is that which makes him the forceful man he 
is. He selects; he reflects; he is a huge mirror. 
He fills his Church with all sorts and conditions 
of men, and his power over all comes from his 
understanding of all. He talks with the brick¬ 
layers on the scaffold, stands on platforms with 
conductors, lingers around shops, and sits with 
workmen while they take their noonday rest. 
He learns the modes of thought of each, and 
their language ; and having gathered his material, 
he comes to me, or rather I go to him; when 
together we select and trim, arrange and fill out, 
—in short we hammer out bis sermon.” 

261 


“ You ! of the little propaganda at Franklin and 
Wood, help the bishop to preach, did you say?” 

“Yes; we hammer out the sermons together; 
we did that a long time before I knew it; how 
long, I cannot say. Perhaps you would like to 
hear how I found him out.” 

“ Found him out, did you say? ” 

“ Yes, found him out; he was sly ; but I found 
him out.” 

Impey then continued : 

“ One day a lady was taking me to task for not 
going to church. I pleasantly asked her how much 
of the last sermon she remembered. She replied 
that she remembered a great deal—could not help 
doing so, her pastor was so interesting. She then 
went on and recounted the points of a sermon on 
the cruelties of sport. Up to this time she had not 
told me who the preacher was : but I interrupted 
her, and said that it seemed as if Ai might have 
been that preacher. She seemed surprised and 
asked how I knew. I did not tell her how we had 
debated the subject a few days before Ai was to 
preach in the interest of the Society for the Pre¬ 
vention of Cruelty to Animals. 

“ A few days afterward, another thing happened. 
The same lady said that I ought to have heard Ai 
preach on the destruction of the poor by their 
poverty. I then remembered that Ai and I had 
262 


been comparing notes just a few days before, and 
had come to the conclusion that every day furn¬ 
ished pitiful instances of the disadvantages under 
which the poor labored. 

“ Here were two incidents which gave me light. 
But the week following, when the lady was about 
telling me the subject of Ai’s last sermon, I antici¬ 
pated her, and told her not only the subject, but 
also the method of treatment, and even told her 
the points upon which he waxed warm, and those 
upon which he was indifferent. She thought I 
must have been there to hear him, but I assured 
her that I had not, and that I never had heard 
him; which a little perplexed her. 

“ I was then convinced that I was helping Ai. 
For years this has been going on. Many a good 
time have we had on that floor; they have been 
feasts to us, those evenings. The Church got only 
the skimmed milk; we had the cream. The Church 
saw the flash only ; the forceful work was done in 
that room. We were warmed, I assure you, 
whether others were or not. Preaching,—what a 
poor thing it is, compared with the preparing to 
preach. And for one man to prepare his sermons, 
—what a prosy affair, both to himself and to the 
congregation. It is when two work out the thought 
—hammer it out like two at an anvil—that some- 
263 


thing can be expected. The people said Ai 
preached. Ai knew it was Ai and I. 

“ You ought to feel the luxury of Ai’s rugs; a 
pile of them, each one an inch in thickness, 
brought from the Orient. We reveled in their 
softness,—and they might tell their wonderful tales. 
For years my Thursdays belonged to Ai. After 
he was safe from intrusion in the evening, we 
would take off our shoes and coats, blow out the 
candle, pile wood on the fire, and lie on the rugs, 
watching the shadows play on the ceiling. He 
then would ask a question, only a casual one ap¬ 
parently, but it was designedly done, a part of his 
method to draw me out and make me talk. No 
one would have thought anything about it, unless 
he had been in the secret. This was his anvil 
upon which he forged his addresses. Sometimes 
he would make an assertion that would naturally 
arouse dissent; this only to create an interest. 
There was method in his affected skepticism. 
He would lead me on by questions and cross¬ 
questions, until the whole subject in hand had 
been gone over, investigated, turned inside out, 
rearranged, trimmed and polished; and so for 
several hours,—sometimes until the small hours, 
—we would forge the lances which he so aptly 
hurled from his cathedral pulpit. At first, as I 
said before, I was not aware of his method; but 
264 


I learnt it in time. Those were rare seasons. 1 
never missed the Thursday roll on the floor, and 
many a night have I slept there, after our inter¬ 
change of thought and talk. And such talk ! I 
have known him to bring down his little fist upon 
those rugs and send clouds of dust up the chim¬ 
ney. I have seen him kick over a chair, while 
expressing his contempt at the unchristian things 
that are done in the name of the Nazarene. 

-“I once told a friend, the same lady, that I 
was the preacher, and that Ai was my mouthpiece. 
She took it all in a spirit of banter. I assured her, 
it was even so, and I would prove it to her. She 
then asked me, with a twinkle in her eye, what 
next Sunday’s sermon was to be. I told her, that 
that had been determined last Thursday.” 

“ ‘ What is it? ’ she asked dubiously; and I told 
her.” 

Here Impey broke off the conversation and we 
walked a long time without-a word. I then asked 
him what he had told the lady,—what the subject 
of the sermon had been. 

He touched his forehead as if trying to recol¬ 
lect ; then repeated slowly : — 

“ The Absolute Inerrancy of all Writings that 
have been Chiseled on Crumbling Stone ; Written 
by the finger of One Who was a Spirit; Penned 
by Stylus ana Quill; and afterward Transcribed 
265 


and Re-transcribed; Translated and Re-trans¬ 
lated ; Printed and Reprinted; taking the 
Chances of Centuries of Vicissitudes ; Read and 
Re-read by Men advanced in Every Degree of 
Lear fling and Ignorance. ’ ’ 

“ What ! !! ” 

“ That,” said Impey, “ was the title I suggested 
to Ai; but he boiled it down, and advertised that 
he would preach on ‘ The Inspiration of the Scrip¬ 
tures.’ ” 

“ Ai called me his partner ; and without me he 
seemed to be disconcerted, and the work could not 
go on; and without this hammering Ai never 
preached. I never parted from him without his 
asking me whether I could be depended upon next 
Thursday, without fail." 


CHAPTER XXXII. 
Reminiscences. 


Let us then be what we are, and speak what we think, and in all 
things keep ourselves loyal to truth, and the sacred professions of 
friendship.— Longfellow. 

In analyzing the character of a great man, it is 
sometimes difficult to fix upon any one particular 
thing which made him great. The distinguishing 
mark when found is frequently so small, or so 
266 


ordinary, that it is a matter of surprise. The 
point of excellence will generally be found in the 
direction of human sympathy. The man was a 
benefactor to his race, and in this consisted his 
greatness. No one is remembered fondly who has 
been selfish or cruel; but one who has been in 
sympathetic touch with his fellow-men, is en¬ 
shrined in their hearts. 

For half a century Ai lived a quiet life among 
the people. It was preeminently a sympathetic 
life among people of all classes. He knew no 
classes, and scorned a condescending air toward 
the poor as much as he did a crawling, deferential 
attitude toward the rich. He knew only the man 
as his brother and fellow, and sought to be of 
service as such. These characteristics mark the 
man. 

To influence the individual was one purpose of 
his life, and he tried to have others act on the 
same principle; and thus, he maintained, would 
society be influenced. This can only be done by 
walking the straight line of integrity, and by a 
close sympathy with men. He was a great gen¬ 
eral ; but he became so because he knew how to 
go along the rank and file, knowing each man, and 
putting himself into sympathetic touch with that 
man. He never put on his regalia and mounted a 
pedestal, saying, “See, I am a great man—ac- 


knowledge me as such; ” but as he went about in 
fatigue dress, the people instinctively felt that here 
was coming a man. 

His sympathy for suffering was as keen as was 
his hatred of folly and shams. In passing along 
the street he would raise his hat and walk with 
bowed head when passing a door marked with the 
sign of affliction. This was not noticed by Impey 
for a long time, until one winter day. It could 
not then be on account of the heat, and it occur¬ 
red always at the door where the sign of death was 
displayed. Impey made a note of his surmises, 
and he satisfied himself of their correctness. Here 
Shoenstein and Ai found common ground, and 
their sympathies drew them together. The Jew 
would frequently join Ai in his walks through the 
quarters tenanted by the poor; and when passing 
a door where the sign was white, they would in¬ 
quire whether they could be of service, even if the 
people were strangers. Shoenstein would always 
ask particularly whether the little one was a boy. 
On stormy winter days the two old men would fol¬ 
low the little processions and stand in the rain and 
in the snow, and see the last rites performed. The 
bishop and the Jew walked arm in arm, recalling 
memories which could not be effaced. The Jew’s 
steps became tottering; but he would wrap him¬ 
self in his warm cloak, and stand in the cold wind 
268 


and rain, because fifty years ago he had laid away 
a child,—his little Jacob,—and he remembered 
the day was snowy and stormy. The two old men 
would put their arms around one another for sup¬ 
port ; and after these funerals they would go to 
the room of the bishop, and the story of little 
Jacob would be recounted with minuteness, while 
the bishop would listen, and perhaps touch up the 
wheels of the little iron locomotive with red paint. 
The bishop, however, could not be induced to 
talk. He would only shake his head, and strive 
to hide his feelings; and an occasional tear would 
steal upon his cheek and fall upon the toy. For 
fifty years the locomotive had made its rounds to 
the sick-rooms of little children, and was painted 
over many times to make it bright and attractive. 

The invalid poor remembered Ai fondly. It 
was through his influence that the carriages of the 
prosperous came to be placed at the disposal of the 
poor, who needed fresh air and a change of scene. 
Half a century ago, could still be seen a coachman 
exercising his horses in the Park, with an empty 
carriage, while invalids were sweltering in courts 
or close attics. Within the memory of men still 
living, some lone woman could be seen driving two 
horses—two horses to pull this one woman. It 
was after that sermon of Ai’s on personal service, 
and that other sermon on the reign of brotherhood 
269 


and the triumph of the kindly heart, that a woman 
asked for a sphere. He said, “Bring around your 
carriage; bring it, don’t send it.” He then gave 
her several addresses of invalids who would ap¬ 
preciate an airing. The effect was magical. This 
leader of fashion really did it as a sincere service; 
but in a few weeks many had taken it up as a fad; 
and to give rides to invalids became an imperative 
duty for those who wished to be in the fashion. 
Most, of course, soon tired, but the sincere kept 
on, and the matter found a solid base. The car¬ 
riages did not wait outside the churches, but in¬ 
valids were taken a turn in the Park until service 
was over. “There are two services going on; 
one here, inside ; and one there, outside,” the 
bishop said one day. It had its desired effect, 
and after that he had plenty of carriages placed at 
his disposal; and thus the beautiful custom grew. 
One day an amusing incident happened. A kind 
old lady was riding alone through the Park, re¬ 
proaching herself on account of her selfishness. 
The day was fine, and the thoughts of suffering in 
the homes of the poor pricked her conscience. 
She would make amends, she thought, and would 
give that old man, sitting there by the roadside, a 
pleasant ride. He looked tired and needed it. 
The old man beat the dust out his trousers, drew 
his shoes through the grass, and then handing up 
270 


his stick, climbed in. The stick was heavy, such 
as tramps used for carrying their bundles, and it 
caused her a little uneasiness. The man plunged 
into the seat beside her, and assumed the air of 
one who felt at home. He began an incessant 
chatter, which amused her, after her first fright, 
and when she noticed his face, she thought she saw 
the marks of kindness and benevolence. He 
wiped his face with a dainty white handkerchief, 
which left a streak on his cheek. He talked of 
the horses and seemed to know a fine stepper; this 
pleased the lady, who, in her younger days, had 
been fond of the turf, and she became quite at 
ease. Then he talked of the late election ; but 
soon changed the subject and spoke of a recent 
discovery in science,—the utilizing of the force of 
the ebb and flow of the tides for manufacturing 
purposes. He explained the different species of 
trees; and once ordered the carriage stopped, in 
order to gather a strange specimen of flower he had 
noticed by the roadside. He examined it closely, 
analyzed it, and declared it something new. The 
lady ordered the coachman a longer way round, 
that she might get more of this man’s talk. Occa¬ 
sionally she would look at the stick, and the dusty 
shoes, and the streak on his cheek ; and then she 
placed in contrast the dainty handkerchief and the 
benevolent face, and these things, with all this con- 
271 


versation, tended to puzzle her. “It is astonish¬ 
ing,” said he, “ what some people will do to make 
a living. They prey upon the passions and baser 
feelings of men, and excite and encourage them in 
their exercise, and get their living out of the mat¬ 
ter. They actually do this for a living. Then 
there is another class who get their living by the 
misfortunes of their fellows. They calculate upon 
a certain percentage of financial failures, and this 
brings them a living. They do not cause disaster; 
they simply calculate upon its happening, and ar¬ 
range to take advantage of the fact. It is curious 
to think of the many ways by which men gain a 
living.” This all set the lady wondering what he 
was driving at,—what he really meant; but be¬ 
fore she could ask, he was on the subject of open¬ 
ing the museums and libraries on Sunday. This 
illustrated the fact that the destruction of the poor 
was their poverty. The rich man’s business goes 
on while he sees the pictures during the week, and 
it costs him his admission only ; but the laborer 
must pay his admission and lose his wages besides. 
The clergy might well ask themselves why their 
Churches should be closed all week. The lady 
tried to ask a question, but he wanted to get out at 
the Girard Avenue Bridge, and walk to Horticul¬ 
tural Hall to meet a celebrated botanist whom he 
mentioned; so they abruptly parted. The next 
272 



day the lady was congratulated on the feast of rea¬ 
son which she must have enjoyed. She had been 
seen by a number of acquaintances as they passed 
in their carriages. She then told her interesting 
story, and wondered who the man could have 
been ; he knew all about horses, talked of politics, 
and the wonderful and recent discoveries of 
science, discussed social topics, analyzed a flower, 
and then left abruptly to meet a great man of 
science. 

“Then you did not know him?” one asked. 
No; she had found him by the river road and 
wished to give the poor man a ride. 

“That was the bishop, Mrs. Kindheart! ” 

Ai’s vacations were the source of a rich fund of 
information, which he made use of in his work. 
He knew men and hence could deal with them. 
“They say the poor man prefers the dram-shop 
because his sleeping place is so wretched. He 
sleeps on Park benches because of the discomforts 
of his home. I will see about this,” he said one 
day. When he took his next vacation, he packed 
a little bundle in a red handkerchief and went 
without leaving any address,—he would send a 
messenger for his letters, and no questions should 
be asked. He wanted to find out about the homes 
of the poor in the parishes where the churches 
were filled with the rich. He first chose the section 
18 273 


frequented by a wandering class of actors, men 
out of work, discharged convicts, undetected 
criminals, and a forlorn class of men who had 
failed in life from one cause or another. He en¬ 
gaged a bed in a cheap lodging house for two days 
and learnt something about cleanliness Here his 
bed had not been the cheapest, so he took a 
cheaper, and the vermin kept him in misery. He 
next engaged a bed in a room where there were 
many others, and the noise of the drunken men 
kept him awake, and the conversation overheard 
was a revelation. One night the room was occu¬ 
pied by a number of sailors, one of whom stuck up 
a row of bugs on pins, like soldiers, to the great 
merriment of the rest. Then the old tars spun 
wonderful yarns, and recounted their various ex¬ 
periences in lodging houses in different parts of 
the world. The bishop laughed, and made his 
contribution of a story. He took his meals at 
cheap restaurants, and found out what some men 
live by. He edged up to the street cleaners as 
they took their rest at noon, and looked into their 
handkerchiefs as they unrolled them to get their 
dinners, and he saw what some men live by. He 
was taken for a pard out of work, so they offered 
to share their dinners. This kind-heartedness of 
the poor greatly touched him. They gathered 
pennies along the row and made up the price of a 
274 


kettle of beer. When he saw their wretched 
messes, he could understand why they sought to 
drown their sorrows. 

These experiences gave him a knowledge of 
men. It appalled him to see the number of re¬ 
spectable broken-down men who had failed in life. 
He noticed especially the vvoe-begone, dejected 
look of men who had been betrayed by friends ; 
men who had endorsed, literally crucified them¬ 
selves to save others; and then had been cruelly 
betrayed. He became interested in men who had 
once been comfortable, but had become involved 
in litigations. The boarding-houses swarmed with 
these wrecks, and they struggled along with their 
careworn heroic wives, trying to keep above the 
waters. These disasters are borne in silence by 
those not on Church rolls, but who are on that roll 
of the heroic. As he sat with these men, munch¬ 
ing their cheap food, he would get them to talk, 
and find out their story. They had each his tale 
of litigation, sad, shameful records of crime com¬ 
mitted by men who frequent the Churches, and 
who call to their aid the strong arm of the law. 
He went quite thoroughly into the matter, and was 
saddened to find the widespread desolation and the 
broken hearts on every side. He made careful 
notes, and after listening to a large number of his¬ 
tories told independently of one another, he en- 
275 


tered into his note-book one brief sentence— 
“ When you go to law, fill your purse" 

He met many strange characters during this va¬ 
cation. One day he got this story from a man. 
He had a friend in jail serving a sentence of three 
years for some petty theft. He himself had been 
partner in the crime, but the convict never be¬ 
trayed him. This loyalty so affected the man, 
that he worked hard to support his friend’s family, 
and he had been their only support for a long time. 
He himself, however, was finally detected and im¬ 
prisoned, and the poor family, left without sup¬ 
port, was thrust into the most distressing poverty. 
“ One is led to doubt,” said the bishop, “ whether 
imprisonment for any long term is the proper 
thing, when such a spirit is displayed. The loyal 
conduct of both these convicts did not spring from 
an intrinsically bad heart. It is a question, 
whether every month after the first, does not tend 
to degradation. Besides, these men had a theory 
that they had only taken that which had first been 
taken from them, in the shape of earnings.” The 
bishop held decided views with regard to sentences 
of imprisonment. He thought that definite terms 
of imprisonment were a relic of barbarism, and 
not seasoned with scientific knowledge, common 
sense, or humanitarian instincts. Some men sen¬ 
tenced to long terms, were sufficiently punished in 
276 


one week; and every additional week served only 
to degrade, to embitter, and to destroy the man, 
instead of reforming him ; while on the other 
hand, there are men walking our streets who ought 
to be under perpetual restraint. He advocated an 
indefinite term of imprisonment, and the employ¬ 
ment of such methods as tended to the reforma¬ 
tion of the man. An inflexible machinery will 
not do this. In discussing these subjects of the 
treatment of prisoners, he would invariably end 
by saying, “ But all this is something that ought 
to have been attended to when the boy was in 
knickerbockers. When we will learn how to start 
men in life, we need not pay so much attention to 
the other end.” 

After vacation he divested himself of his coarse 
clothing, and met some pleasant people, at Mrs. 
Airy’s. Several bright women recounted their 
summer experiences at the fashionable resorts. 
The bishop evaded carefully all questions as to his 
summer. Once he was asked whether he had had 
a pleasant time. He replied that he had had a 
profitable time. 

He placed himself into close relations with all 
agencies that tended to alleviate suffering among 
children. He pitied the man or woman who suf¬ 
fered mentally or physically, but he himself suf- 
277 


fered when he saw the sufferings of children and 
the wrongs done them. 

Ai gathered around him a noble class of men, 
men of affairs as a rule, who did not seek the 
priesthood as a profession ; these he pressed into 
the service, and ordained. He had some of the 
formalities revised, so that many who sought, but 
who had no particular mark of a call, were ex¬ 
cluded ; while those who betrayed, unconsciously 
to themselves, a fitness for the work, were ordained, 
almost against their will. After the usual formal 
recommendations had been made, he invariably 
asked the candidates if they could bring a certifi¬ 
cate from a group of boys who could not write 
their names,—the cellar-door recommendation, he 
called it. In prowling around at night looking af¬ 
ter his diocese, he frequently came upon some 
bright young men in dark corners and doorways 
of the warehouses, where they, out of pure love 
for the children, had gathered groups of ragamuf¬ 
fins, and were striving to gain their confidence, 
and give them helpful thoughts and sympathy. 
“That is the right kind of Sunday School,” he 
said one Tuesday night, to Shoenstein, whom he 
caught sitting on a bale of goods with half a dozen 
boys about him. He was tempted to ordain him 
to the Christian priesthood on the spot; but he 
controlled himself, and respected the formalities. 

278 


But he did press his hand; and that nervous pres¬ 
sure of the hand, meant more to these incipient 
priests than the after-ordination, as they termed 
it. These cellar-door recommendations secured 
to him the flower of the young men, and the call 
to the priesthood was put upon a basis that had the 
ring of genuineness. The way he would scent the 
self-sufficient young man, the son of some fond 
mother, perhaps, who sought a respectable calling, 
was merciless. There were few who were willing 
to pass under his searching eye. His priests 
were drawn from the unwilling class who uncon¬ 
sciously were exhibiting the cellar-door recommen¬ 
dations. Any well-connected youth could secure 
respectable signatures, but only the genuine man 
could win the respect and sympathies of boys. 
“ How many swearing boys love you?” was a 
startling question he one day proposed to a candi¬ 
date. “If they do not love you, perhaps you 
have not proven yourself a loving brother. Go 
and love some one.” 

It was not his custom to make stated and formal 
visits for confirmation in every parish ; this con¬ 
sumed too much time; he had but four such ser¬ 
vices in the year, to which all candidates were in¬ 
vited. He however visited, informally and un¬ 
announced, all the Churches, and thus avoided any 
dress parade, as he termed these visitation crowds. 

279 


He made it a rule to keep on close terms with the 
sextons, for from that source the information con¬ 
cerning the state of the church could be obtained. 
He knew by name every sexton of the diocese. 

He often spoke to the young of the duty of be¬ 
ing kind to animals. He maintained that in mak¬ 
ing a child really thoughtful and kind at heart, the 
hardness and cruelties of the man in his relations 
with his fellow man would pass away. He be¬ 
lieved that if the principles of the Society for 
the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, were thor¬ 
oughly instilled and carried out to their logical 
conclusions, the refined cruelties of otherwise de¬ 
cent men would disappear. He encouraged Enid 
Burr, who headed the Society, and thought it a 
good thing to instil a consideration for dumb ani¬ 
mals, as a sure method of arousing consideration 
for man. Teach a boy not to starve or torment 
a rat in a trap, or work a horse without food, or 
stone a dog just for fun, and he will see the 
force of it; and there can even be aroused an 
indignation, when such things are done. When 
this has been accomplished, and kindness has 
really become a principle, then carry the matter 
a step farther, and ask the boy not to be unkind 
to any sort of animal , not even to his fellow man. 
Tell him that it is wrong to cage a man, that is, 
take advantage of some unfortunate situation in 
280 


which he may be placed, and starve or torment 
him ; tell him that it is wrong to work a man with¬ 
out proper food or housing ; tell him it is cruel to 
break hearts or draw blood by cunning ways of 
trade, and the orderly proceedings in law courts. 
Make the boy really kind at heart, so that it be¬ 
comes a principle—an enthusiasm, and it will be¬ 
come effective, not only in his treatment of dumb 
creatures; but he will begin to treat humanely his 
fellow man. He once made the startling statement 
to Enid Burr, that if the teachings of the Society 
were thoroughly instilled for two generations, it 
would turn the law courts into museums; and we 
would go to them as we would visit a medieval tor¬ 
ture chamber, or some room filled with geological 
fossils*; we would have no other use for them, and 
no one could be found willing to serve in them. 
Impey agreed with them, and said they must act. 
So one day Impey bought an armful of books —Black 
Beauty —and stationed himself outside the door of 
the Law Department of the University, and waited 
for the dismissal of the class. After he had made 
his distribution, he kept on standing for a long 
time with one copy of Black Beauty still in his 
hand. 

“ All the fellows are out, sir,” said a student, 
kindly. 

“ Yes ; but the professor is still in.” 

281 


The bishop had a keen scent for merit that was 
undressed and devoid of the picturesque. “ Talk 
of College Settlements,” he said one day ; “ there 
is Pastor Unassume and his cultivated college-bred 
wife and their college-bred daughter, living on a 
quiet street among the poor, and doing their work, 
almost unseen and unsung—that is the real Settle¬ 
ment. They are not on the alert for a removal 
after a few months’ residence, but have settled 
down for a life of continuous service. They are 
fixtures. It is a settlement of cultivated people 
among those who need their superior services ; and 
the fact that it is a pastorate, does not alter the 
fact that they are the most helpful of college-bred 
people who have settled for a life of service to 
humanity, and have settled the question that a life 
of usefulness need not necessarily be pic¬ 
turesque. ’ ’ 


“ There is just where you have paid your readers 
a compliment,” said Impey to me. “You have 
not set up a finger-board; you have trusted their 
intelligence and have not told them all , but have 
left some ground for the imagination to play in. 
You had no more right to invade this, than had 
the soldiers to monopolize the boy’s skating 
ground on Boston Common.” 

282 



‘• But Impey, a few more details would fill in 
nicely; can’t you give me only a few?” I said. 

“No,” he replied. “You have indicated the 
ship with a magnificent rigging ; you have turned 
her prow toward her desired haven ; it matters 
little now about the thousand ripples and tosses— 
the incidents of the voyage.” And so my in¬ 
former became dumb for awhile and heated his 
rattler over his lamp. I tried a little persuasion. 
Then he broke forth excitedly,—“ Did you not tell 
of a woman delicately nurtured, going and living 
with a serious aim in life? Think of it a moment? 
Can there be anything but splendid possibilities in 
such an act ? 

‘ ‘ Have you not told of a judge stung with remorse, 
and seeking to make reparation ? 

“Have' you not told of the Covenant and all 
the rest, remaining and adjusting themselves; 
serving the community instead of asking the com¬ 
munity to serve them ; feeding the flock instead of 
being huge mouths ? 

“ Have you not told of a bishop establishing 
himself on Minster Street as a centre, and work¬ 
ing outward, infecting the whole mass by no other 
aid than the force of a character fashioned after 
that of the Nazarene ? 

“ Have you not told of a Jew and Christian arm 
in arm * 

283 


“ Have you not told of business men dining at 
home at noon, bringing their friends with them, 
regardless of what became of the saloon ? 

“ Have you forgotten the story about Poe? 

“Have you not told of Midas by the pond ar¬ 
raigning himself for judgment ? 

“You have built already to the stars. You 
have an intelligent circle—trust them ; they will 
fill out such lives. They will analyze men and 
women with such an aim and facing in such a 
direction. They will recognize members of a 
brotherhood who have turned their faces toward 
righteousness, and who are looking forward to a 
true justice; and though they move no step, the 
vision of such faces will inspire. 

“You have insidiously slipped into our bosoms 
the essence of unselfishness; its aroma we cannot 
hide even if we try.” 

I sat with paper and pencil; but not a detail 
more would Impey give. I then remarked that he, 
Impey, the bosom friend of the bishop, was also 
the essence of something, the aroma of which I 
could find no words to describe. Impey smiled 
and began to hammer his shoe vigorously. 

* “ There,” said Impey, “is the new Arena ; 
have you-” 

Just then Mrs. Airy came in. 

284 



CHAPTER XXXIII. 


A Victory. 


In Memory of Enid Hamilton Burr, 
Born June io, 1872, 
Departed this life June 9, 1950. 
She did her level best. 


Note. The stone was engraved by a man who had been 
a pugilist, and who is said to have possessed gigantic 
strength. It was whispered that he had once lifted a 
church. He came under the influence of Enid Hamilton 
Burr and abandoned the ring. He obtained work at a 
monument establishment, where he did an occasional job at 
chiselling. He developed a singular talent for this, and his 
work became celebrated for its sharp, clear lines, which no 
one could misread. It is said that while cutting this par¬ 
ticular stone, the copy was lost, just as the motto was about 
to be engraved. He, however, finished it from memory, 
and gave his own version of the tribute paid to that woman 
who was a sinner. 

Close to a by-path in the old yard of graves at 
Gloria Dei, can be seen the slab marking the rest¬ 
ing place of Enid Burr. The funeral was an 
event. Never before or since has Southwark seen 
such a mourning company. Business was sus- 





pended, and houses along the route were draped. 
Impey raised a flag. “ It is a victory,” he said ; 
“see conquered society; feel freedom in the 
air ! ” The builders of sewers stopped work and 
uncovered their heads. Old men joined hands 
with little children, and made one long line of 
honor. As the procession moved on, subdued 
voices were heard bearing testimony to her worth, 
in overleaping the conventional limits which a false 
social order had set up ; in not being afraid of 
losing her place in society by knowing the wrong 
people ; in combining high thinking with plain 
living; in drawing around her a sacred circle, free 
from gossip, envy and strife, and in adopting 
perfect justice as the rule of her life, which gave 
her a beauty of character that pierced to the centre 
our shams and petty social weaknesses. 

She was carried from her home on Congress 
Street on the shoulders of four men ; a Chinaman, 
a negro, an Italian, and Impey. How had this 
respect, so cosmopolitan, been conquered ? It was 
by the force of a great heart, in a time of social 
upheavals, unselfishly devoted to high and pure 
aims. It was the personal contact of a life with 
other lives; and by this personal sympathy, seek¬ 
ing diffusion of its best self. 

Fifty years before, she had crossed the same 
yard of graves, a happy bride,—no, it was longer 
286 


than that—fifty-eight years ago—the year Walt 
Whitman died. She frequently told the story of 
her wedding romance ; how she was married, and 
how after the ceremony, for their journey, they 
crossed the river to Camden to view the body of 
the gray poet, which was lying in state. Scandal¬ 
mongers had it that they were married in Camden, 
but this was purely a fabrication ; as the Record 
of Gloria Dei will prove. 

A little incident of that visit was often recount¬ 
ed. There was lying on the threshold of the poet’s 
home on Mickle Street, a new cocoa mat, 
evidently gotten for the occasion; and to her it 
was very suggestive. There was society, that had 
misread, misunderstood, and interdicted his 
books, and execrated the man ; the same society 
was now standing in a long line, each one 
patiently waiting his turn to wipe his feet, before 
touching the floor trod by the poet. The day was 
bright and the daintiest boot unsoiled ; yet there 
was the mat with its significance, and all were bid¬ 
den to wipe their feet. Light was dawning. It 
was the beginning of a new era; and was marked 
by an appreciation of the difference between 
poetry and rhyme. This appreciation of the 
realities of things has become keener year by year, 
until now it has developed into an appreciation of 
character, whether clothed in the garb of prince or 
287 


peasant. Enid Hamilton Burr continued an ardent 
admirer of the rugged poet, and defended him in 
as rugged a way as he wrote. She maintained 
that he was too much of a poet to be capable of 
rhyme; he thought too intensely to permit his 
muse to run into cast iron moulds of jingle. 

One day, turning over the leaves of his volume, 
and coming upon his autograph, she remarked : 
“How rugged and strong it is; what a hand to 
lie unused ! It is all very mysterious,—this cut¬ 
ting down of giant oaks,—this silencing of voices 
that sing,—this laying aside of brains that think ; 
and then to see the weak, conventional mediocri¬ 
ties, the incapable, the cumberers of the ground, 
growing and propagating after their kind.” 

And this, which was so aptly spoken of Walt, 
might be urged with regard to herself. Why was 
she carried to her grave, while all sorts and con¬ 
ditions of men were sitting at her feet for instruc¬ 
tion ? Perhaps she who had conquered this re¬ 
spect could best be laid at rest. She had lived in¬ 
tensely and had done her work,—to such there is 
no death, but there comes a ripening, which 
causes the fruit to drop as a natural consequence, 
perpetuating its life in other forms and lives, while 
its own form shrinks and disappears. This tree 
might well be cut down after casting so much seed, 
which was even now bearing its fruit. 

288 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


A Life Worth Living. 

Sink not in spirit; who aimeth at the sky, shoots higher much than 
he who means a tree.— Herbert. 

After doing our best work, there follows that 
period of dejection, in which we refuse to recog¬ 
nize its excellence, and are tempted to cast it 
from us, as of little account. So it was with 
Ai, after his episcopacy of fifty years, when his 
hair had grown quite white, and his step uncer¬ 
tain. His mind never was clearer, and he saw 
in their true relations matters and events, but the 
thought of the unaccomplished task, and the vi¬ 
sion of the unapproached goal, still so far off, 
greatly depressed him. 

Impey wrapped around Ai his warm cloak, af¬ 
ter one of his fevers which left him cold and 
exhausted. It was the day he celebrated his half 
century’s work as a bishop. But Ai could not 
look upon it with any degree of enthusiasm; in¬ 
deed it seemed to him a sort of failure as a work, 
although he admitted it was fair for a beginning. 

“ Come, come,” said Impey, trying to rouse 
him up, “ you must not be so modest; you must 
19 289 


be willing to acknowledge the good you have done 
and be as fair toward yourself as you have univers¬ 
ally been to others.” He then tried to recall the 
past, and compare it with the present. He asked 
Ai to try and remember, if he could, the wretched 
hovels, and compare them with the comfortable 
homes which have replaced them ; how those whole 
sections once known as the slums, have been re¬ 
built, and reformed in every way. 

“All but Minster Street,” the bishop inter¬ 
jected. 

“Yes,” said Impey, “there is a strangeness 
about this, grim in the extreme ; you have given 
every one else new homes, and clean streets, and 
good drainage, but you have not succeeded in giv¬ 
ing them to yourself. It is about the only wretched 
street left.” 

“The laws, the laws, you forget those home¬ 
stead laws,” interjected Ai. 

“Possibly you did not try for yourself so hard 
as you worked for others.” 

“Yes,” replied Ai, “ I had the price of the 
property, but I needed an equal sum for costs, so 
I let the matter rest.” 

Impey then tried to show him a silver lining, in 
the decay of strife among well meaning people, 
and in the universal coming together on some com¬ 
mon basis of brotherhood. “ The brethren do 
290 


not devour one another since you have taught them 
the duty of kindness toward animals.” At this Ai 
laughed, and petted his great cat which had nestled 
on the edge of his cloak. 

“Have I not,” said Impey, “seen a bishop and 
a venerable Hebrew, arm in arm, going along the 
streets, seeing who could be the kindest? This 
seems to be the vision of a brotherhood.” Impey 
intended this for a pleasantry, but it was a miscar¬ 
riage. The old bishop looked up at the little loco¬ 
motive upon the shelf, and then closed his eyes, 
and rested his head aside a case of books. Impey 
saw he had invaded memories. 

“ One can now read the papers and pass them 
on to friends—this seems to me an advance. By 
the way, that glass case of Poe’s is to have a place 
in the Historical Rooms, and Poe’s children have 
lived to see their father honored.” 

Impey then passed in review the days when in¬ 
toxicating liquors were sold on the corners of 
streets—publicly—like bread. And the state legal¬ 
ized it, as it had in another age still farther back, 
the burning of witches. The grocery now took 
the place of the saloon, and in consequence men 
had more money for food, and more brain and 
energy for work, which brought still more money 
and greater comforts and even luxuries. He also 
recalled how with the saloon went a great deal of 
291 


the business of the courts, there was less strife and 
fewer misfortunes, and this brought about a decline 
of food for nourishing this legal stomach. 

Here Ai corrected his reasoning, and rather 
thought that it was on account of the enactment of 
sane laws that fewer litigations took place. There 
were no conflicting • laws to unravel—thanks to 
Judge Rue. 

“And there you have another phenomenon,” 
pleasantly added Impey. He then went on, 
“ Have we not seen a general leveling in society, 
a leveling down and a leveling up ; have we not 
seen the rich cease their patronizing, and the poor 
refusing to be patronized, but simply wanting their 
just rights ; have we not seen capital shake hands 
with hard rough labor, and both acknowledge that 
they were mutually dependent upon one another ; 
has not the spirit of Midas and his plan of profit 
sharing taken root and permeated the whole fabric 
of society ? ” 

As he spoke, Impey’s face glowed with excite¬ 
ment, and he seemed as one having'a vision. He 
laid his hand upon Ai’s shoulder and tried to rouse 
him to a realization of the import of these 
changes. “ And best of all,” added he, “ have 
I not seen an unassuming man, a follower of the 
Nazarene, so living as not to belie his calling? ” 
The bishop was stirred by these reminders, and 
292 


appeared to grow brighter and stronger. He 
reached over to the mantel for his shepherd’s 
crook, which in his increasing years he constantly 
used while walking the streets. He raised himself 
and walked up and down the room, touching his 
books as if they were old friends, and straight¬ 
ening the pictures on the wall. 

“And the diamonds,” continued Impey, as he 
caught sight of the crook ; “ those empty holes in 
the crook have told their tale of charity and kind¬ 
liness,—such a life would seem worth living.” 

Ai paused before a picture of an Easter Dawn, 
and he said he seemed to see light in the distance, 
—in the distance , he modestly repeated. 

“Just laws, a wholesome press, and a kindly 
heart, these,” said Impey, “ were seen in your 
young vision* and their realization is at hand. 
Has not your leadership become infectious? Think 
of the possibilities growing out of such a home as 
Enid Burr’s. Have you not emphasized the home 
life, and given a comfortable home to everybody 
but yourself? No, not in the distance ; ” laying 
his hand on Ai’s shoulder; “you who have seen 
the day of just laws, a just administration of them, 
a wholesome press, and a cessation of man’s in¬ 
humanity to man, have seen the realization of a 
glorious vision indeed.” 

Ai, however, had miscalculated his strength, and 
2 93 


soon sat down again, and fell into a tired sleep. 
Impey laid him upon the bed in the little alcove, 
and placed the crook beside him, to rap when 
necessary. He then lay down upon the rugs. 
When he arose, he looked into the alcove. The 
shepherd’s crook seemed to have fallen, for it lay 
tightly clasped in the arm of the bishop, whose 
face was bright with the light of a new day. 

There never was such a demonstration of uni¬ 
versal love and sorrow, as Ai’s death called forth. 
It permeated all classes, non-religionists and re¬ 
ligionists, of every name, who came to do him 
honor. 

The Presbyterians came because they admired 
his learning and scholarship. The Methodists did 
him honor’ because of his zeal and the enthusiasm 
with which he carried on his work. • The Baptists 
loved him because he never berated them, and 
seemed to see much good in them. The Roman¬ 
ists said he was a gentleman, and never had his 
fling at the Pope and at the Irish. Indeed some 
fondly hoped to show some day, that he was Irish 
himself. The Lutherans liked him because he 
spoke in terms of admiration of the courage of 
Luther, in the face of bigotry and arbitrary power. 
The Unitarians maintained he was bright and in¬ 
telligent, and scientific in his methods in searching 
for truths; such a man was really one of them- 
294 


selves, although he might not say so,—might not 
even know it; he had a happy, precious thought 
that no man nor class of men had a monopoly of 
truth. The Hebrews had a great respect for him 
because of his humanitarian spirit, and because he 
chose as his example a young carpenter,—a Jew, 
and was so careful lest he should caricature him. 
The Friends loved him because he was a man of 
peace; and greatly respected him because he was 
always armed for uncompromising warfare upon 
wrong and injustice. He was beloved by all 
Churchmen because he was faithful to his work, 
stood by the hard workers among the clergy, ob¬ 
served all the proprieties, said his private prayers 
at a priedieu, and wore a purple cassock. 

All these followed the procession as it came out 
of the narrow Minster Street, and proceeded to 
the row of graves where he was laid in common 
with the poor and the unknown. Impey carried a 
processional cross. He could give no particular 
reason for it, only Ai had loved it, and it seemed 
to be a symbol of the crucifixion which this saviour 
of men underwent every day. While at the grave, 
Impey read a few sentences from the Koran, all to 
himself. 

Ai had few possessions; his only will was this: 
“I give my personal effects to Israel Impey, my 
lifelong friend, who will lay me away in common 
2 95 


with other men—the poor, the known, and the 
unknown, to whom I am brother. Plant no flowers 
and sow no seeds; if I am worthy, the winds will 
bring the seeds, and the birds will aid them.” 

And so he was buried. There is no headstone; 
but the grave is known by a well-worn path lead¬ 
ing up to it. Almost any hour you will find some 
one there; and going away they say, “ There lies 
a man.” 

The truth so beautifully exemplified in his life 
will live. The true meaning of brotherhood will 
be better understood. He demonstrated how all 
may do good to all, being involved in the same 
problems; no one having a right to speak down, 
without conceding the right to speak up. Those 
in a condition of servitude to poverty, and those 
in a condition of servitude to money, must be 
brought face to face for emancipation, that they 
may free each other as they free themselves. It 
was as a fifth gospel to him, that he who would re¬ 
generate society must first regenerate himself, and 
then his virtues must act as a contagion acts, by 
contact man with man. 


THE END. 


296 


'J'HE author would like a suggestive 
illustration for each page of this book. 
He would deem it a favor if the reader 
were to send or suggest a picture seen 
anywhere in periodical, book or print, 
illustrating a thought or situation on 
any page, noting the page it is to illus¬ 
trate and where the picture can be 
seen. 

Every such kindness will be appreci¬ 
ated. Address 

CHAS. DANIEL, 

2006 N. 2gth Street, 

Philadelphia, Pa. 







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